THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 MRS L. T. MEADE.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT 
 
 BY 
 
 .. T. MEAD 
 
 c "77 Z I i'-> L rrr 
 
 AND 
 
 DR. HALIFAX 
 
 XOD9T AUTHOBS OF " 8TOBIES FBOM THE DIABT OT A DOOIOB** 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HURST & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 OOPTRISHTED, 1896, BY 
 
 THE INTERNATIONAL NEWS COMPANY 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
 
 PS 
 
 DR. RTJMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 CHAPTEB L 
 
 Two young men in flannels were standing out- 
 aide the door of the Red Doe in the picturesque 
 village of Grandcourt. The village contained one 
 long and straggling street. The village inn was 
 covered with ivy, wistaria, flowering jessamine, 
 monthly roses, and many other creepers. The 
 flowers twined round old-fashioned windows, and 
 nodded to the guests when they awoke in the morn 
 ing and breathed perfume upon them as they re 
 tired to bed at night. In short, the Inn was an 
 ideal one, and had from time immemorial found 
 favor with reading parties, fishermen, and others 
 who wanted to combine country air and the pursuit 
 of health with a certain form of easy amusement. 
 The two men who now stood in the porch were 
 undergraduates from Balliol. There was nothing 
 in the least remarkable about their appearance 
 they looked like what they were, good-hearted, 
 keen-witted young Englishmen of the day. The 
 time was evening, and as the Inn faced due west 
 the whole place was bathed in warm sunshine. 
 
 2138215
 
 6 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "This heat is tremendous and there is no air,** 
 said Everett, the younger of the students. "How 
 can you stand that sun beating on your head, 
 Frere? I'm for indoors." 
 
 "Bight," replied Frere. a It is cool enough in 
 the parlor." 
 
 As he spoke he took a step forward and gazed 
 down the winding village street. There was a look 
 of pleased expectation in his eyes. He seemed to 
 be watching for some one. A girl appeared, walk 
 ing slowly up the street. Frere's eye began to 
 dance. Everett, who was about to go into the 
 shady parlor, gave him a keen glance and for 
 some reason his eyes also grew bright with ex 
 pectation. 
 
 "There's something worth looking at,** he ex 
 claimed in a laughing voice. 
 
 "What did you say?" asked Frere gruffly. 
 
 "Nothing, old man at least nothing special. I 
 say, doesn't Hetty look superb?" 
 
 "You've no right to call her Hetty." 
 
 Everett gave a low whistle. 
 
 "I rather fancy I have," he answered "she 
 gave me leave this morning." 
 
 "Impossible,** said Frere. He turned pale 
 under all his sunburn, and bit his lower lip. 
 "Don't you find the sun very hot?" he asked. 
 
 " No, it is sinking into the west the great heat 
 is over. Let us go and enliven this little charmer. " 
 
 " I will, " said Frere suddenly. " You had better 
 toy here where you are. It is my right," h
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 7 
 
 added. "I was about to tell you so, when she 
 
 came in view." 
 
 "Your right?" cried Everett; he looked dis 
 turbed. 
 
 Frere did not reply, but strode quickly down the 
 village street. A dozen strides brought him up to 
 Hetty's side. She was a beautiful girl, with a face 
 and figure much above her station. Her hat was 
 covered with wild flowers which she had picked 
 in her walk, and coquettishly placed there. She 
 wore a pink dress covered with rosebuds some 
 wild flowers were stuck into her belt. As Frere 
 advanced to meet her, her laughing eyes were 
 raised to his face there was a curious mixture of 
 timidity and audacity in their glance. 
 
 "I have a word to say to you," he accosted her 
 in a gruff tone. "What right had you to give 
 Everett leave to call you Hetty?" 
 
 The timidity immediately left the bright eyes, 
 and a slight expression of anger took its place. 
 
 "Because I like to distribute my favors, Mr. 
 Horace." 
 
 She quickened her pace as she spoke. Everett, 
 who had been standing quite still in the porch 
 watching the little scene, came out to meet the 
 pair. Hetty flushed crimson when she saw him ; 
 she raised her dancing, charming dark eyes to his 
 face, then looked again at Frere, who turned sul 
 lenly away. 
 
 "I hope, gentlemen, you have had good sport," 
 said the rustic beauty, in her demure voice.
 
 8 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "Excellent," replied Everett. 
 
 They had now reached the porch, which was en 
 twined all over with honeysuckle in full flower. A 
 great spray of the fragrant flower nearly touched 
 the girl's charming face. She glanced again at 
 Frere. He would not meet her eyes. Her whole 
 face sparkled with the feminine love of teasing. 
 
 "Why is he so jealous?" she whispered to her 
 self. "It would be fun to punish him. I like 
 him better than Mr. Everett, but I'll punish him." 
 
 " Shall I give you a buttonhole?" she said, look 
 ing at Everett. 
 
 "If you'll be so kind," he replied. 
 
 She raised her eyes to the honeysuckle over her 
 head, selected a spray with extreme care, and 
 handed it to him demurely. He asked her to place 
 it in his buttonhole ; she looked again at Frere, he 
 would not go away, but neither would he bring 
 himself to glance at her. She bent her head to 
 search in the bodice of her dress for a pin, found 
 one, and then with a laughing glance of her eyes 
 into Everett's handsome face, complied with his 
 request. 
 
 The young fellow blushed with pleasure, then he 
 glanced at Frere, and a feeling of compunction 
 smote him he strode abruptly into the house. 
 
 "Hetty, what do you mean by this sort of 
 thing?" said Frere the moment they were alone. 
 
 "I mean this, Mr. Horace: I am still my own 
 mistress." 
 
 "Great Scot! of course you are; but what do
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 9 
 
 you mean by this sort of trifling? It was only 
 this morning that you told me you loved me. 
 Look here, Hetty, I'm in no humor to be trifled 
 with ; I can't and won't stand it. I'll make you 
 the best husband a girl ever had, but listen to me, 
 I have the devil's own temper when it is roused. 
 For God's sake don't provoke it. If you don't 
 love me, say so, and let there be an end of it." 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't speak so loudly," said 
 Hetty, pouting her lips and half crying. "Of 
 course I like you ; I well, yes, I suppose I love 
 you. I was thinking of you all the afternoon. 
 See what I gathered for you this bunch of heart's- 
 ease. There's meaning in heart's-ease there's 
 none in honeysuckle." 
 
 Frere's brow cleared as if by magic. 
 
 "My little darling," he said, fixing his deep-set 
 eyes greedily on the girl's beautiful face. " For 
 give me for being such a brute to you, Hetty. Here 
 give me the flowers." 
 
 "No, not until you pay for them. You don't 
 deserve them for being so nasty and suspicious." 
 
 u Give me the flowers, Hetty ; I promise never 
 to doubt you again." 
 
 "Yes, you will; it is your nature to doubt.*' 
 
 "I have no words to say what I feel for you." 
 
 Frere's eyes emphasized this statement so em 
 phatically, that the empty-headed girl by his side 
 felt her heart touched for the moment. 
 
 "What do you want me to do, Mr. Horace?" she 
 askecl, lowering her eyes.
 
 10 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "To give me the flowers, and to be nice to me." 
 
 " Come down to the brook after supper, perhaps 
 I'll give them to you then. There's aunt calling 
 me don't keep me, please." She rushed off. 
 
 "Hetty," said Mrs. Armitage, the innkeeper's 
 wife, " did I hear you talking to Mr. Horace Frere 
 in the porch?" 
 
 "Yes, Aunt Fanny, you did," replied Hetty. 
 
 "Well, look here, your uncle and I won't have 
 it. Just because you're pretty " 
 
 Hetty tossed back her wealth of black curls. 
 
 "It's all right," she said in a whisper, her eyes 
 shining as she spoke. " He wants me to be his 
 wife he asked me this morning." 
 
 "He doesn't mean that, surely," said Mrs. 
 Armitage, incredulous and pleased. 
 
 "Yes, he does; he'll speak to uncle to-morrow 
 that is, if I'll say 'Yes.' He says he has no one 
 to consult he'll make me a lady he has plenty 
 of money." 
 
 "Do you care for him, Hetty?" 
 
 " Oh, don't ask me whether I do or not, Aunt 
 Fanny I'm sure I can't tell you." 
 
 Hetty moved noisily about. She put plates and 
 dishes on a tray preparatory to taking them into 
 the parlor for the young men's supper. 
 
 "Look here," said her aunt, "I'll see after the 
 parlor lodgers to-night." She lifted the tray as 
 she spoke. 
 
 Hetty ran up to her bedroom. She took a little 
 square of glass from its place on the wall and
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 11 
 
 gazed earnestly at the reflection of her own charm 
 ing face. Presently she put the glass down, locked 
 her hands together, went over to the open window 
 and looked out. 
 
 "Shall I marry him?" she thought. "He has 
 plenty of money he loves me right enough. If I 
 were his wife, I'd be a lady I needn't worry 
 about household work any more. I hate house 
 hold work I hate drudgery. I want to have a 
 fine time, with nothing to do but just to think of 
 my dress and how I look. He has plenty of 
 money, and he loves me he says he'll make me 
 his wife as soon as ever I say the word. Uncle 
 and aunt would be pleased, too, and the people in 
 the village would say I'd made a good match. 
 Shall I marry him? I don't love him a bit, but 
 what does that matter?" 
 
 She sighed the color slightly faded on her 
 blooming cheeks she poked her head out of the 
 little window. 
 
 " I don't love him, " she said to herself. " When 
 I see Mr. Awdrey my heart beats. Ever since I 
 was a little child I have thought more of Mr. 
 Awdrey than of any one else in all the world. I 
 never told no, I never told, but I'd rather slave 
 for Mr. Eobert Awdrey than be the wife of any one 
 else on earth. What a 'fool I am ! Mr. Awdrey 
 thinks nothing of me, but he is never out of my 
 head, nor out of my heart. My heart aches for 
 him I'm nearly mad sometimes about it all. 
 Perhaps I'll see him to-night if I go down to the
 
 12 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 brook. He's sure to pass the brook on his way to 
 the Court. Mr. Everett likes me too, I know, and 
 he's a gentleman as well as Mr. Frere. Oh, dear, 
 they both worry me more than please me. I'd give 
 twenty men like them for one sight of the young 
 Squire. Oh, what folly all this is !" 
 
 She went again and stood opposite to her little 
 Booking-glass. 
 
 " The young ladies up at the Court haven't got 
 a face like mine," she murmured. "There isn't 
 any one all over the place has a face like mine. I 
 wonder if Mr. Awdrey really thinks it pretty? 
 Why should I worry myself about Mr. Frere? I 
 wonder if Mr. Awdrey would mind if I married 
 him would it make him jealous? If I thought 
 that, I'd do it fast enough yes, I declare I would. 
 But of course he wouldn't mind not ono bit; he 
 has scarcely ever said two words to me not since 
 we were little 'uns together, and pelted each other 
 with apples in uncle's orchard. Oh, Mr. Awdrey, 
 I'd give all the world for one smile from you, but 
 you think nothing at all of poor Hetty. Dear, 
 beautiful Mr. Awdrey won't you love me even a 
 little even as you love your dog? Yes, I'll go 
 and walk by the brook after supper. Mr. Frere 
 will meet me there, of course, and perhaps Mr. 
 Awdrey will go by perhaps he'll be jealous. I'll 
 take my poetry book and sit by the brook just 
 where the forget-me-nots grow. Yes, yes oh, I 
 wonder if the Squire will go by." 
 
 These thoughts no sooner came into Hetty's
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 13 
 
 brain than she resolved to act upon them. She 
 snatched up a volume of L. E. L.'s poems their 
 weak and lovelorn phrases exactly suited her style 
 and order of mind and ran quickly down to a 
 dancing rivulet which ran its merry course about 
 a hundred yards back of the Inn. She sat by the 
 bank, pulled a great bunch of forget-me-nots, laid 
 them on the open pages of her book, and looked 
 musingly down at the flowers. Footsteps were 
 heard crunching the underwood at the opposite 
 side. A voice presently sounded in her ears. 
 Hetty's heart beat loudly. 
 
 "How do you do?" said the voice. 
 
 "Good-evening, Mr. Robert," she replied. 
 
 Her tone was demure and extremely respectful. 
 She started to her feet, letting her flowers drop as 
 she did so. A blush suffused her lovely face, her 
 dancing eyes were raised for a quick moment, then 
 as suddenly lowered. She made a beautiful 
 picture. The young man who stood a few feet 
 away from her, with the running water dividing 
 them, evidently thought so. He had a boyish 
 figure a handsome, manly face. His eyes were 
 very dark, deeply set, and capable of much thought. 
 He looked every inch the gentleman. 
 
 "Is Armitage in?" he asked after a pause. 
 
 "I don't know, Mr. Robert, I'll go and inquire 
 if you like." 
 
 " No, it doesn't matter. The Squire asked me to 
 call and beg of your uncle to come to the Court to 
 morrow morning. Will you give him the message?"
 
 14 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Kobert." 
 
 There was a perceptible pause. Hetty looked 
 down at the water. Awdrey looked at her. 
 
 "Good-evening," he said then. 
 
 "Good-evening, sir," she replied. 
 
 He turned and walked slowly up the narrow path 
 which led toward the Court. 
 
 " His eyes told me to-night that he thought me 
 pretty," muttered Hetty to herself, "why doesn't 
 he say it with his lips? I I wish I could make 
 him. Oh, is that you, Mr. Frere?" 
 
 " Yes, Hetty. I promised to come, and I am 
 here. The evening is a perfect one, let us follow 
 the stream a little way." 
 
 Hetty was about to say "No, "when suddenly 
 lifting her eyes, she observed that the young Squire 
 had paused under the shade of a great elm-tree a 
 little further up the bank. A quick idea darted 
 into her vain little soul. She would walk past the 
 Squire without pretending to see him, in Frere's 
 company. Frere should make love to her in the 
 Squire's presence. She gave her lover a coy and 
 affectionate glance. 
 
 "Yes, come," she said: "it is pretty by the 
 stream; perhaps I'll give you some forget-me-nots 
 presently." 
 
 "I want the heart' s-ease which you have already 
 picked for me," said Frere. 
 
 "Oh, there's time enough." 
 
 Frere advanced a step, and laid his hand on 
 the girl's arm.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 15 
 
 * Listen," he said : " I was never more in earnest 
 in my life. I love you with all my heart and soul. 
 I love you madly. I want you for my wife. I 
 mean to marry you, come what may. I have 
 plenty of money and you are the wife of all others 
 for me. You told me this morning that you loved 
 me, Hetty. Tell me again ; say that you love me 
 better than any one else in the world." 
 
 Hetty paused, she raised her dark eyes; the 
 Squire was almost within earshot. 
 
 "I suppose I love you a little," she said, in a 
 whisper. 
 
 "Then give me a kiss just one." 
 
 She walked on. Frere followed. 
 
 "Give me a kiss just one," he repeated. 
 
 "Not to-night," she replied, in a demure voice. 
 
 "Yes, you must I insist." 
 
 "Don't, Mr. Frere," she called out sharply, 
 uttering a cry as she spoke. 
 
 He didn't mind her. Overcome by his passion 
 he caught her suddenly in his arms, and pressed 
 his lips many times to hers. 
 
 "Hold, sir! What are you doing?" shouted 
 Awdrey's voice from the opposite side of the bank. 
 
 "By heaven, what is that to you?" called Frere 
 back. 
 
 He let Hetty go with some violence, and retreated 
 one or two steps in his astonishment. His face 
 was crimson up to the roots of his honest brow. 
 
 Awdrey leaped across the brook. "You will 
 please understand that you take liberties with Misa
 
 16 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 Armitage at your peril," he said. " What right 
 have you to take such advantage of an undefended 
 girl? Hetty, I will see you home." 
 
 Hetty's eyes danced with delight. For a mo 
 ment Frere felt too stunned to speak. 
 
 "Come with me, Hetty," said Awdrey, putting a 
 great restraint upon himself, but speaking with 
 irritation. " Come you should be at home at this 
 hour." 
 
 " You shall answer to me for this, whoever you 
 are," said Frere, whose face was white with passion. 
 
 "My name is Awdrey," said the Squire; "I 
 will answer you in a way you don't like if you 
 don't instantly leave this young girl alone. " 
 
 "Confound your interference," said Frere. "I 
 am not ashamed of my actions. I can justify 
 them. I am going to marry Miss Armitage." 
 
 "Is that true, Hetty?" said Awdrey, looking at 
 the girl in some astonishment. 
 
 "No, there isn't a word of it true," answered 
 Hetty, stung by a look on the Squire's face. u I 
 don't want to have anything to do with him he 
 shan't kiss me. I I'll have nothing to do with 
 him." She burst into tears. 
 
 "I'll see you home," said Awdrey.
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 THE Awdreys of " The Court" could trace their 
 descent back to the Norman Conquest. They 
 were a proud family with all the special character 
 istics which mark races of long descent. Among 
 the usual accompaniments of race, was given to 
 them the curse of heredity. A strange and pecul 
 iar doom hung over the house. It had descended 
 now from father to son during many generations. 
 How it had first raised its gorgon head no one 
 could tell. People said that it had been sent as a 
 punishment for the greed of gold. An old an 
 cestor, more than a hundred and fifty years ago, 
 had married a West Indian heiress. She had 
 colored blood in her veins, a purse of enormous 
 magnitude, a deformed figure, and, what was more 
 to the point, a particularly crooked and obtuse 
 order of mind. She did her duty by her descend 
 ants, leaving to each of them a gift. To one, de 
 formity of person to another, a stammering 
 tongue to a third, a squint to a fourth, imbecil 
 ity. In each succeeding generation, at least one 
 man and woman of the house of Awdrey had cause 
 to regret the gold which had certainly brought a 
 curse with it But beyond and above all these
 
 18 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 things, it was immediately after the West Indian's 
 entrance into the family that that strange doom be 
 gan to assail the male members of the house which 
 was now more dreaded than madness. The doom 
 was unique and curious. It consisted of one re 
 markable phase. There came upon those on whom 
 it descended an extraordinary and complete lapse 
 of memory for the grave events of life, accompanied 
 by perfect retention of memory for all minor 
 matters. This curious phase once developed, other 
 idiosyncrasies immediately followed. The victim's 
 moral sense became weakened all physical energy 
 departed a curious lassitude of mind and body 
 became general. The victim did not in the least 
 know that there was anything special the matter 
 with him, but as a rule the doomed man either be 
 came idiotic, or died before the age of thirty. 
 
 All the great physicians of their time had been 
 consulted with regard to this curious family trait, 
 but in the first place no one could understand it, 
 in the second no possible cure could be suggested 
 as a remedy. The curse was supposed to be due 
 to a brain affection, but brain affections in the old 
 days were considered to be_ special visitations 
 from God, and men of science let them alone. 
 
 In their early life, the Awdreys were particularly 
 bright, clever sharp fellows, endowed with excel 
 lent animal spirits, and many amiable traits of 
 character. They were chivalrous to women, kind 
 to children, full of warm affections, and each and 
 all of them possessed much of the golden gift of
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 19 
 
 hope. As a rule the doom of the house came upon 
 each victim with startling suddenness. One of the 
 disappointments of life ensued an unfortunate 
 love affair the death of some beloved member a 
 money loss. The victim lost all memory of the 
 event. No words, no explanations could revive 
 the dead memory the thing was completely blotted 
 out from the phonograph of the brain. Immedi 
 ately afterward followed the mental and physical 
 decay. The girls of the family quite escaped the 
 curse. It was on the sons that it invariably de 
 scended. 
 
 Up to the present time, however, Robert Aw- 
 drey's father had lived to confute the West Indian's 
 dire curse. His father had married a Scotch 
 lassie, with no bluer blood in her veins than that 
 which had been given to her by some rugged Scotch 
 ancestors. Her health of mind and body had 
 done her descendants much good. Even the word 
 " nerves" had been unknown to this healthy-minded 
 daughter of the North her children had all up to 
 the present escaped the family curse, and it was 
 now firmly believed at the Court that the spell 
 was broken, and that the West Indian's awful doom 
 would leave the family. The matter was too 
 solemn and painful to be alluded to except under 
 the gravest conditions, and young Robert Awdrey, 
 the heir to the old place and all its belongings, was 
 certainly the last person to speak of it. 
 
 Robert's father was matter-of-fact to the back 
 bone, but Robert himself was possessed of an essen-
 
 20 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 tially reflective temperament. Had he been less 
 healthily brought up by his stout old grandmother 
 and by his mother, he might have given way to 
 morbid musings. Circumstances, however, were 
 all in his favor, and at the time when this strange 
 story really opens, he was looking out at life with 
 a heart full of hope and a mind filled with noble 
 ambitions. Robert was the only son he had two 
 sisters, bright, good-natured, eyery-day sort of 
 girls. As a matter of course his sisters adored 
 him. They looked forward to his career with im 
 mense pride. He was to stand for Parliament at 
 the next general election. His brains belonged to 
 the highest order of Intellect. He had taken a 
 double first at the University there was no posi 
 tion which he might not hope to assume. 
 
 Robert had all the chivalrous instincts of his 
 race toward women. As he walked quickly home 
 now with H^tty by his side, his blood boiled at 
 the thought of the insult which had been offered 
 to her. Poor, silly little Hetty was nothing what' 
 ever to him except a remarkably pretty village girl 
 Her people, however, were his father's tenants; he 
 felt it his duty to protect her. When he parted 
 with her just outside the village inn, he said a few 
 words. 
 
 "You ought not to allow those young men to 
 take liberties with you, Hetty," he said. "Now, 
 go home. Don't be out so late again in the future, 
 and don't forget to give your uncle my father's 
 message."
 
 DR RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 21 
 
 She bent her head, and left him without reply 
 ing. She did not even thank him. He watched 
 her until she disappeared into the house, then 
 turned sharply and walked up the village street 
 home with a vigorous step. 
 
 He had come to the spot where he had parted 
 with Frere, and was just about to leap the brook, 
 'yhen that young man started suddenly from under 
 a tree, and stood directly in his path. 
 
 "I must ask you to apologize to me," he said. 
 
 Awdrey flushed. 
 
 " What do you mean?" he replied. 
 
 "What I say. My intentions toward Miss 
 Armitage are perfectly honest. She promised to 
 marry me this morning. When you chose to inter 
 fere, I was kissing my future wife." 
 
 "If that is really the case, I beg your pardon," 
 said Awdrey; "but then," he continued, looking 
 full at Frere, " Hetty Armitage denies any thought 
 of marrying you." 
 
 "She does, does she?" muttered Frere. His 
 face turned white. 
 
 " One word before you go, " said Awdrey. " Miss 
 Armitage is a pretty girl " 
 
 "What is that to you?" replied Frere, "I don't 
 mean to discuss her with you." 
 
 " You may please yourself about that, but allow 
 *aae to say one thing. Her uncle is one of my 
 father's oldest and most respected tenants; Hetty 
 is therefore under our protection, and I for one 
 will see. that sjje gets fair play. Any one whc>
 
 22 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 takes liberties with her has got to answer to me. 
 That's all. Good-evening." 
 
 Awdrey slightly raised his hat, leaped the brook, 
 and disappeared through the underwood in the 
 direction of the Court. 
 
 Horace Frere stood and watched him. 
 
 His rage was now almost at white heat. He 
 was madly in love, and was therefore not quite re 
 sponsible for his own actions. He was determined 
 at any cost to make Hetty his wife. The Squire's 
 interference awoke the demon of jealousy in his 
 heart. He had patiently borne Everett's marked 
 attentions to the girl of his choice he wondered 
 now at the sudden passion which filled him. He 
 walked back to the inn feeling exactly as if the 
 devil were driving him. 
 
 * I'll have this thing out with Hetty before I am 
 an hour older," he cried aloud. "She promised 
 to marry me this very morning. How dare that 
 jackanapes interfere ! What do I care for his posi 
 tion in the place? If he's twenty times the Squire 
 it's nothing to me. Hetty had the cool cheek to 
 eat her own words to him in my presence. It's 
 plain to be seen what the thing means. She's a 
 heartless flirt she's flying for" higher game than 
 honest Horace Frere, but I'll put a spoke in her 
 wheel, and in his wheel too, curse him. He's in 
 love with the girl himself that's why he interferes. 
 Well, she shall choose between him and me to 
 night, and if she does choose him it will be all the 
 worse for him."
 
 bit. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 83 
 
 As lie rushed home, Frere lashed himself into 
 greater and greater fury. Everett was standing in 
 side the porch when the other man passed him 
 roughly by. 
 
 "I say, Frere, what's up?" called Everett, tak 
 ing the pipe out of his mouth. 
 
 " Curse you, don't keep me, I want to speak to 
 Miss Armitage." 
 
 Everett burst into a somewhat discordant laugh. 
 
 " Your manners are not quite to be desired at the 
 present moment, old man," he said. " Miss Armi 
 tage seems to have a strangely disquieting effect 
 upon her swains." 
 
 "I do not intend to discuss her with you, 
 Everett. I must speak to her at once." 
 
 Everett laughed again. 
 
 "She seems to be a person of distinction," he 
 said. " She has just been seen home with much 
 ceremony by no less a person than Awdrey, of The 
 Court." 
 
 " Curse Awdrey and all his belongings. Do you 
 know where she is?" 
 
 A sweet, high-pitched voice within the house 
 now made itself heard. 
 
 " I can see you in Aunt's parlor if you like, Mr. 
 Horace." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Frere strode into the house a moment later he 
 was standing opposite to Hetty in the little hot 
 gaslit parlor. 
 
 Hetty had evidently been crying. Her tears
 
 24 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 had brought shadows under her eyes they added 
 pathos to her lovely face, giving it a look of depth 
 which it usually lacked. Frere gave her one glance, 
 then he felt his anger dropping from him like a 
 mantle. 
 
 "For God's sake, Hetty, speak the truth, ' said 
 the poor fellow. 
 
 "What do you want me to say, Mr. Horace?" 
 she asked. 
 
 Her voice was tremulous, her tears nearly broke 
 forth anew. Frere made a step forward. He 
 would have clasped her to his breast, but she would 
 not allow him. 
 
 "No," she said with a sob, "I can't have any 
 thing to do with you." 
 
 "Hetty, you don't know what you are saying. 
 Hetty, remember this morning." 
 
 " I remember it, but I can't go on with it. For 
 get everything I said go away please go away." 
 
 "No, I won't go away. By heaven, you shall 
 tell me the truth. Look here, Hetty, I won't be 
 humbugged you've got to choose at once." 
 
 "What do you mean, Mr. Horace?" 
 
 "You've got to choose between that fellow and 
 me." 
 
 "Between you and the Squire!" exclaimed 
 Hetty. 
 
 She laughed excitedly ; the bare idea caused her 
 heart to beat wildly. Her laughter nearly drove 
 Frere mad. He strode up to her, took her hands 
 with force, and looked into her frightened eyes.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 25 
 
 "Do you love him? The truth, girl, I will have 
 it." 
 
 "Let me go, Mr. Horace." 
 
 " I won't until you tell me the truth. It is either 
 the Squire or me; I must hear the truth now or 
 never which is it, Squire Awdrey or me?" 
 
 "Oh, I can't help it," said Hetty, bursting into 
 tears "it's the Squire oh, sir, let me go."
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 FEEEE stood perfectly still for a moment after 
 Hetty had spoken, then without a word he turned 
 and left her. Everett was still standing in the 
 porch. Everett had owned to himself that he had 
 a decided penchant for the little rustic beauty, but 
 Frere's fierce passion cooled his. He did not feel 
 particularly inclined, however, to sympathize with 
 his friend. 
 
 "How rough you are, Frere!" he said angrily; 
 "you've almost knocked the pipe out of my mouth 
 a second time this evening." 
 
 Frere went out into the night without uttering a 
 syllable. 
 
 " Where are you off to?" called Everett after him. 
 
 " What is that to you?" was shouted back. 
 
 Everett said something further. A strong and 
 very emphatic oath left Frere's lips in reply. The 
 innkeeper, Armitage, was passing the young man 
 at the moment. He stared at him, wondering at 
 the whiteness of his face, and the extraordinary 
 energy of his language. Armitage went indoors to 
 supper, and thought no more of the circumstance. 
 He was destined, however, to remember it later. 
 Everett continued to smoke his pipe with philo-
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 27 
 
 sophical calm. He Loped against hope that pretty 
 little Hetty might come and stand in the porch 
 with him. Finding she did not appear, he resolved 
 to go out and look for his friend. He was leaving 
 the Inn when Armitage called after him : 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Everett, but will you be 
 out late?" 
 
 "I can't say, "replied Everett, stopping short j 
 "why?" 
 
 "Because if so, sir, you had better take the 
 latchkey. We're going to shut up the whole place 
 early to-night; the wife is dead beat, and Hetty is 
 not quite well." 
 
 "I'm sorry for that, "said Everett, after a pause; 
 u well, give me the key. I dare say I'll return quite 
 soon; I am only going out to meet Mr. Frere." 
 
 Armitage gave the young man the key and re 
 turned to the house. 
 
 Meanwhile Frere had wandered some distance 
 from the pretty little village and the charming 
 rustic inn. His mind was out of tune with all 
 harmony and beauty. He was in the sort of con 
 dition when men will do mad deeds not knowing in 
 the least why they do them. Hetty's words had, 
 as he himself expressed it, "awakened the very 
 devil in him." 
 
 " She has owned it, " he kept saying to himself. 
 " Yes, I was right in my conjecture he wants her 
 himself. Much he regards honor and behaving 
 straight to a woman. I'll show him a thing or 
 two. Jove, if I meet him to-night, he'll rue it."
 
 28 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 The great solemn plain of Salisbury lay not two 
 miles off. Frere made for its broad downs with 
 out knowing in the least that he was doing so. By 
 and by, he found himself on a vast open space, 
 spreading sheer away to the edge of the horizon. 
 The moon, which had been bright when he had 
 started on his walk, was now about to set it was 
 casting long shadows on the ground; his own 
 shadow in gigantic dimensions walked by his side 
 as he neared the vicinity of the plain. He walked 
 on and on ; the further he went the more fiercely 
 did his blood boil within him. All his life hitherto 
 he had been calm, collected, reasonable. He had 
 taken the events of life with a certain rude philoso 
 phy. He had intended to do well for himself to 
 carve out a prosperous career for himself, but al 
 though he had subdued his passions both at college 
 and at school, he had never blinded his eyes to the 
 fact that there lived within his breast, ready to be 
 awakened when the time came, a devil. Once, as 
 a child, he had given way to this mad fury. He 
 had flung a knife at his brother, wounding him in 
 the temple, and almost killing him. The sight of 
 the blood and the fainting form of his only brother 
 had awakened his better self. -.He had lived 
 through agony while his brother's life hung in the 
 balance. The lad eventually recovered, to die in 
 a year or two of something else, but Frere never 
 forgot that time of mental torture. From that 
 hour until the present, he had kept his "devil," 
 as he used to call it, well in check.
 
 DR. RVMSEY'S PATIENT. 29 
 
 It was rampant to-night, however he knew it, 
 he took no pains to conceal the fact from his own 
 heart ho rather gloried in the knowledge. 
 
 He walked on and on, across the plain. 
 
 Presently in the dim distance he heard Everett 
 calling him. 
 
 " Frere, I say Frere, stop a moment, I'll come 
 up to you." 
 
 A man who had been collecting underwood, and 
 was returning home with a bagful, suddenly ap 
 peared in Frere 's path. Hearing the voice of the 
 man shouting behind he stopped. 
 
 " There be some-un calling y er, " he said in his 
 rude dialect. 
 
 Frere stared at the man blindly. He looked 
 behind him, saw Everett's figure silhouetted against 
 the sky, and then took wildly to his heels ; he ran 
 as if something evil were pursuing him. 
 
 At this moment the moon went completely down, 
 and the whole of the vast plain lay in dim gray 
 shadow. Frere had not the least idea where he 
 was running. He and Everett had spent whole 
 days on the plain revelling in the solitude and the 
 splendid air, but they had neither of them ever 
 visited it at night before. The whole place was 
 strange, uncanny, unfamiliar. Frere soon lost his 
 bearings. He tumbled into a hole, uttered an ex 
 clamation of pain, and raised himself with some 
 difficulty. 
 
 " Hullo !" said a voice, a you might have broken 
 your leg. What are you doing here?"
 
 80 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 Frere stood upright; a man slighter and taller 
 than himself faced him about three feet away. 
 Frere could not recognize the face, but he knew the 
 tone. 
 
 u What the devil have you come to meet me for?" 
 he said. " You've come to meet a madman. Turn 
 back and go home, or it will be the worse for you." 
 
 "I don't understand you," said Awdrey. 
 
 Frere put a tremendous restraint upon himself. 
 
 "Look here," he said, "I don't want to injure 
 you, upon my soul I don't, but there's a devil in 
 me to-night, and you had better go home without 
 any more words." 
 
 a l shall certainly do nothing of the kind," an 
 swered Awdrey. " The plain is as open to me as 
 to you. If you dislike me take your own path." 
 
 " My path is right across where you are stand 
 ing," said Frere. 
 
 " Well, step aside and leave me alone !" 
 
 It was so dark the men only appeared as shadows 
 one to the other. Their voices, each of them 
 growing hot and passionate, seemed scarcely to 
 belong to themselves. Frere came a step nearer 
 to Awdrey. 
 
 "You shall have it," he cried. '"By the heaven 
 above, I don't want to spare you. Let me tell you 
 what I think of you." 
 
 "Sir," said Awdrey, "I don't wish to have any 
 thing to do with you leave me, go about your 
 business." 
 
 "I will after I've told you a bit of my mind.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 31 
 
 You're a confounded sneak you're a liar you're 
 no gentleman. Shall I tell you why you interfered 
 between me and my girl to-night because you 
 want her for yourself !" 
 
 This sudden accusation so astounded Awdrey 
 that he did not even reply. He came to the con 
 clusion that Frere was really mad. 
 
 "You forget yourself," he said, after a long 
 pause. " I excuse you, of course, I don't even know 
 what you are talking about !" 
 
 "Yes, you do, you black-hearted scoundrel. 
 You interfered between Hetty Armitage and me be 
 cause you want her yourself she told me so much 
 to-night !" 
 
 " She told you ! it's you who lie." 
 
 "She told me so much for your pretended 
 virtue. Get out of the way, or I'll strike you to 
 the earth, you dog !" 
 
 Frere's wild passion prevented Awdrey's rising. 
 
 The accusation made against him was so pre 
 posterous that it did not even rouse his anger. 
 
 /'I'm sorry for you," he said after a pause, "you 
 labor under a complete misapprehension. I wish 
 to protect Hetty Armitage as I would any other 
 honest girl. Keep out of my path now, sir, I wish 
 to continue my walk." 
 
 "By Heaven, that you never shall." 
 
 Frere uttered a wild, maniacal scream. The 
 next instant he had closed with Awdrey, and rais 
 ing a heavy cane which he carried, aimed it full 
 at the young Squire's head.
 
 33 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "I could kill you, you brute, you scoundrel, you 
 low, base seducer," he sliouted. 
 
 For a moment Awdrey was taken off his guard. 
 But the next instant the fierce blood of his race 
 awoke within him. Frere was no mean antagonist 
 he was a stouter, heavier, older man than 
 Awdrey. He had also the strength which mad 
 ness confers. After a momentary struggle he flung 
 Awdrey to the ground. The two young men rolled 
 over together. Then with a quick and sudden 
 movement Awdrey sprang to his feet. He had no 
 weapon to defend himself with but a slight stick 
 which he carried. Frere let him go for a moment 
 to spring upon him again like a tiger. A sudden 
 memory came to Awdrey's aid a memory which 
 was to be the undoing of his entire life. He had 
 been told in his boyhood by an old prize-fighter 
 who taught him boxing, that the most effective way 
 to use a stick in defending himself from an enemy 
 was to use it as a bayonet. 
 
 "Prod your foe in the mouth," old Jim had said 
 "be he dog or man, prod him in the mouth. 
 Grasp your stick in both hands, and when he 
 comes to you, prod him in the mouth or neck." 
 
 The words flashed distinctly now through 
 Awdrey's brain. "When Frere raised his heavy 
 stick to strike him he grasped his own slender 
 weapon and rushed forward. He aimed full at 
 Frere' s open mouth. The stick went a few inches 
 higher and entered the unfortunate man's right 
 eye, He fell with a sudden groan to the ground.
 
 DR. EVM3EY'S PATIENT. 33 
 
 In a moment Awdrey's passion was over. He 
 bent over the prostrate man and examined the 
 wound which he had made. Frere lay perfectly 
 quiet ; there was an awful silence about him. The 
 dark shadows of the night brooded heavily over 
 the place. Awdrey did not for several moments 
 realize that something very like a murder had been 
 committed. He bent over the prostrate man he 
 took his limp hand in his, felt for a pulse there 
 was none. With trembling fingers he tore open 
 the coat and pressed his hand to the heart it was 
 strangely still. He bent his ear to listen there 
 was no sound. Awdrey was scarcely frightened 
 yet. He did not even now in the least realize 
 what had happened. He felt in his pocket for a 
 flask of brandy which he sometimes carried about 
 with him. An oath escaped his lips when he 
 found he had forgotten it. Then taking up his 
 stick he felt softly across the point. The point of 
 the stick was wet wet with blood. He felt care 
 fully along its edge. The blood extended up a 
 cou,ple of inches. He knew then what had hap 
 pened. The stick had undoubtedly entered Frere 's 
 brain through the eye, causing instant death. 
 
 When ths knowledge came to Awdrey he laughed. 
 His laugh sounded queer, but he did not notice its 
 strangeness. He felt again in his pocket dis 
 covered a box of matches which he pulled out 
 eagerly. He struck a match, and by the weird, 
 uncertain light which it cast looked for an instant 
 at the dead face of the man whose life lie had taken, 
 I
 
 84 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "I don't even know his name," thought Awdrey. 
 "What in the world have I killed him for? Yes, 
 undoubtedly I've killed him. He is dead, poor 
 fellow, as a door-nail. What did I do it for?" 
 
 He struck another match, and looked at the end 
 of his stick. The stick had a narrow steel ferrule 
 at the point. Blood bespattered the end of the 
 stick. 
 
 " I must bury this witness," said Awdrey to him 
 self. 
 
 He blew out the match, and began to move grop 
 ingly across the plain. His step was uncertain. 
 He stooped as he walked. Presently he came to 
 a great copse of underwood. Into the very thick 
 of the underwood he thrust his stick. 
 
 Having done this, he resolved to go home. 
 Queer noises were ringing in his head. He felt as 
 if devils were pursuing him. He was certain that 
 if he raised his eyes and looked in front of him, 
 he must see the ghost of the dead man. It was 
 early in the night, not yet twelve o'clock. As he 
 entered the grounds of the Court, the stable clock 
 struck twelve. 
 
 " I suppose I shall get into a beastly mess about 
 this," thought Awdrey. "I never meant to kill 
 that poor fellow. I ran at him in self-defence. 
 He'd have had my blood if I hadn't his. Shall I 
 see my father about it now? My father is a mag 
 istrate; he'll know what's best to be done." 
 
 Awdrey walked up to the house. His gait was 
 uncertain and shambling, so little characteristic of
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 35 
 
 him that if any one had met him in the dark he 
 would not have been recognized. He opened one 
 of the side doors of the great mansion with a latch 
 key. The Awdreys were early people an orderly 
 household who went to roost in good time the 
 lamps were out in the house only here and there 
 was a dim illumination suited to the hours of dark 
 ness. Awdrey did not meet a soul as he went up 
 some stairs, and down one or two corridors to his 
 own cheerful bedroom. He paused as he turned 
 the handle of his door. 
 
 "My father is in bed. There's no use in 
 troubling him about this horrid matter before the 
 morning," he said to himself. 
 
 Then he opened the door of his room, and went 
 in. 
 
 To his surprise he saw on the threshold, just 
 inside the door, a little note. He picked it up and 
 opened it. 
 
 It was from his sister Ann. It ran as follows : 
 
 "DEAKEST BOB. I have seen the Cuthberts, and 
 they can join us on the plain to-morrow for a pic 
 nic. As you have gone early to bed, I thought I'd 
 let you know in case you choose to get up at cock 
 crow, and perhaps leave us for the day. Don't 
 forget that we start at two o'clock, and that Mar 
 garet will be there. Your loving sister, ANN." 
 
 Awdrey found himself reading the note with in 
 terest. The excited beating of his heart cooled
 
 36 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 down. He sank into a chair, took off his cap, 
 wiped the perspiration from his brow. 
 
 "I wouldn't miss Margaret for the world," he 
 said to himself. 
 
 A look of pleasure filled his dark gray eyes. A 
 moment or two later he was in bed, and sound 
 asleep. He awoke at his usual hour in the morn 
 ing. He rose and dressed calmly. He had for 
 gotten all about the murder the doom of hi* 
 house had fallen upon him.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " 1 WISH you would tell me about him, Mr. Aw* 
 drey," said Margaret Douglas. 
 
 She was a handsome girl, tall and slightly made 
 her eyes were black as night, her hair had a ra 
 ven hue, her complexion was a pure olive. She 
 was standing a little apart from a laughing, chat 
 tering group of boys and girls, young men and 
 young ladies, with a respectable sprinkling of 
 fathers and mothers, uncles and aunts. Awdrey 
 stood a foot or two away from her his face was 
 pale, he looked subdued and gentle. 
 
 " What can I tell you?" he asked. 
 
 u You said you met him last night, poor fellow. 
 The whole thing seems so horrible, and to think of 
 it happening on this very plain, just where we are 
 having our picnic. If I had known it, I would 
 not have come." 
 
 "The murder took place several miles from 
 here," said Awdrey. "Quite close to the Court, 
 in fact. I've been over the ground this morning 
 with my father and one of the keepers. The body 
 was removed before we came." 
 
 "Didn't it shock you very much?" 
 W
 
 38 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 u Yes ; I am sorry for that unfortunate Everett. " 
 
 "Who is Le? I have not heard of him." 
 
 "He is the man whom they think must have 
 done it. There is certainly very grave circum 
 stantial evidence against him. He and Frere were 
 heard quarrelling last night, and Armitage can 
 prove that Everett did not return home until about 
 two in the morning. When he went out he said he 
 was going to follow Frere, who had gone away in 
 a very excited state of mind. 
 
 "What about, I wonder?" 
 
 "The usual thing," said Awdrey, giving Mar 
 garet a quick look, under which she lowered her 
 eyes and faintly blushed. 
 
 "Tell me," she said, almost in a whisper. "I 
 am interested it is such a tragedy." 
 
 "It is; it is awful. Sit down here, won't you, 
 or shall we walk on a little way? We shall soon 
 get into shelter if we go down this valley and get 
 under those trees yonder." 
 
 "Come then," said Margaret. 
 
 She went first, her companion followed her. He 
 looked at her many times as she walked on in front 
 of him. Her figure was full of supple and easy 
 grace, her young steps seemed to speak the very 
 essence of youth and springtime. She appeared 
 scarcely to touch the ground as she walked over it ; 
 once she turned, and the full light of her dark eyes 
 made Awdrey 's heart leap. Presently she reached 
 the shadow caused by a copse of young trees, and 
 stood still until the Squire came up to her.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 39 
 
 "Here's a throne for you, Miss Douglas. Do 
 you see where this tree extends two friendly arms? 
 Do you observe a seat inlaid with moss? Take 
 your throne." 
 
 She did so immediately and looked up at him 
 with a smile. 
 
 "The throne suits you," he said. 
 
 She looked down her lips faintly trembled 
 then she raised her eyes. 
 
 "Why are you so pale?" he asked anxiously. 
 
 "I can't quite tell you," she replied, "except 
 that notwithstanding the beauty of the day, and 
 the summer feeling which pervades the air, I can't 
 get rid of a sort of fear. It may be superstitious 
 of me, but I think it is unlucky to have a picnic 
 on the very plain where a murder was committed." 
 
 " You forget over what a wide extent the plain 
 extends," said Awdrey ; "but if I had known" he 
 stopped and bit his lips. 
 
 "If ever mind," she answered, endeavoring to 
 smile and look cheerful, " any sort of tragedy al 
 ways affects me to a remarkable degree. I can't 
 help it I'm afraid there is something in me akin 
 to trouble, but of course it would be folly for us to 
 stay indoors just because that poor young fellow 
 came to a violent end some miles away." 
 
 "Yes, it is quite some miles from here I am 
 truly sorry for him." 
 
 " Sit down here, Mr. Awdrey, here at my feet if 
 you like, and tell me about it." 
 
 " I will sit at your feet with all the pleasure in
 
 40 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 the world, but why should we talk any more OB 
 this gruesome subject?" 
 
 "That's just it," said Margaret, "if I am to get 
 rid of it, I must know all about it. You said you 
 met him last night?" 
 
 "I did," said Awdrey, speaking with unwilling 
 ness. 
 
 "And you guess why he came by his end?" 
 
 "Partly, but not wholly." 
 
 "Well, do tell me." 
 
 " I will I'll put it in as few words as possible. 
 You know that little witch Hetty, the pretty niece 
 of the innkeeper Armitage?" 
 
 u Hetty Armitage of course I know her. I tried 
 to get her into my Sunday class, but she wouldn't 
 come." 
 
 " She's a silly little creature," said Awdrey. 
 
 "She is a very beautiful little creature," cor 
 rected Miss Douglas. 
 
 " Yes, I am afraid her beauty was too much for 
 this unfortunate Frere's sanity. I came across him 
 last night, or rather they passed me by in the un 
 derwood, enacting a love scene. The fact is, he 
 was kissing her. I thought he was taking a liber 
 ty and interfered. He told me he intended to mary 
 her but Hetty denied it. I saw her back to the 
 Inn she was very silent and depressed. Another 
 man, a handsome fellow, was standing in the porch. 
 It just occurred to me at the time, that perhaps he 
 also was a suitor for her hand, and might be the 
 favored one. She went indoors. On my way
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 41 
 
 home I met Frere again. He tried to pick a quar 
 rel with me, which of course I nipped in the bud. 
 He referred to his firm intention of marrying 
 Hetty Armitage, and when I told him that she 
 had denied the engagement, he said he would go 
 back at once and speak to her. I then returned 
 to the Court. 
 
 " The first thing I heard this morning was the 
 news of the murder. My father as magistrate was 
 of course mado acquainted with the fact at a very 
 early hour. Poor Everett has been arrested on 
 suspicion, and there's to be a coroner's inquest 
 to-morrow. That is the entire story as far as I 
 know anything about it. Your face is whiter 
 than ever, Miss Douglas. Now keep your word 
 forget it, since you have heard all the facts of 
 the case." 
 
 She looked down again. Presently she raised 
 her eyes, brimful of tears, to his face. 
 
 "I cannot forget it," she said. "That poor 
 young fellow such a fearfully sudden end, and 
 that other poor fellow ; surely if he did take away 
 a life ii must have been in a moment of terrible 
 madness?" 
 
 "That is true," said Awdrey. 
 
 "They cannot possibly convict nim of murder, 
 can they?" 
 
 " My father thinks that the verdict will be man 
 slaughter, or, at the worst, murder under strong 
 provocation; but it is impossible to tell." 
 
 Awdrey looked again anxiously at his compan-
 
 43 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 ion. Her pallor and distress aroused emotion in 
 his breast which he found almost impossible to 
 quiet. 
 
 "I'm sorry to my heart that you know about 
 this," he said. "You are not fit to stand any of 
 the roughness of life." 
 
 "What folly!" she answered, with passion. 
 "What am I that I should accept the smooth 
 and reject the rough? I tell you what I would like 
 to do. I'd like to go this very moment to see that 
 poor Mr. Everett, in order to tell him how deeply 
 sorry I am for him. To ask him to tell me the 
 story from first to last, from his point of view. To 
 clear him from this awful stain. And I'd like to 
 lay flowers over the breast of that dead boy. Oh, 
 I can't bear it. Why is the world so full of trou 
 ble and pain?" 
 
 She burst into sudden tears. 
 
 "Don't, don't! Oh! Margaret, you're an angel. 
 You're too good for this rarth," said Awdrey. 
 
 "Nonsense," she ans^^ped; "let me have my 
 cry out; I'll be all right ma minute." 
 
 Her brief tears were quickly over. She dashed 
 them aside and rose to her feet. 
 
 "I hear the children shouting to me," she said. 
 " I'm in no humor to meet them. Where shall we 
 go?" 
 
 "This way," said Awdrey quickly; "no one 
 knows the way through this copse but -Tie." 
 
 He gave her his hand, pushed aside the trees, 
 and they soon found themselves ia a dim little
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 48 
 
 world of soft green twilight. There was a narrow 
 path on which they could not walk abreast. Aw- 
 drey now t ok the lead, Margaret following him. 
 After walking Tor half a mile the wood grew thin* 
 ner, and they found themselves far away from 
 their compani ns, and on a part of the plain which 
 was quite new ground to Margaret. 
 
 "How lovely and enchanting it is here," she 
 said, giving a low laugh ->f pleasure. 
 
 "I am lad you like it," said Awdrey. "I dis 
 covered "hat path to these heights only a week 
 ago. I never told a soul about it. For all you 
 can tell your feet may now be treading on virgin 
 ground." 
 
 As Awdrey spoke he panted slightly, and put 
 his h^nd to his brow. 
 
 "Is anything the matter with you?" asked Mar 
 garet. 
 
 "Nothing; I was never better in my life." 
 
 "You don't look well; you're changed." 
 
 "Don't say that," he answered, a faint ring of 
 anxiety in his voice. 
 
 She gazed at him earnestly. 
 
 " You are," she repeated. "I don't quite recog 
 nize the expression in your eyes." 
 
 "Oh, I'm all right," he replied, "only " 
 
 "Only what? Do tell me." 
 
 "I don't want to revert to that terrible tragedy 
 again," he said, after a pause. "There is some 
 thing, however, in connection with it which sur 
 prises myself."
 
 44 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 * I don't seem to feel the horror of it. I feel 
 everything else; your sorrow, for instance the 
 beauty of the day the gladness and fulness of life, 
 but I don't feel any special pang about that poor 
 dead fellow. It's queer, is it not?" 
 
 "No," said Margaret tenderly. "I know I 
 quite understand your sensation. You don't feel 
 it simply because you feel it too much you are 
 slightly stunned." 
 
 "Yes, you're right we'll not talk about it any 
 more. Let us stay here f r a little while." 
 
 " Tell me over r.gain the preparations for your 
 coming of age." 
 
 Margaret seated herself on the grass as she 
 spoke. Her white dress her slim young figure 
 a sort of spiritual light in her dark oy3s, gave her 
 at that moment an unearthly radiance in the eyes 
 of the man who loved her. All of a sudden, with 
 an impulse he could not withstand, he resolved to 
 put his fortunes to the test. 
 
 "Forgive me," he said, emotion trembling in his 
 voice " I can only speak of one thing at this mo 
 ment." 
 
 He dropped lightly on one knee beside her. She 
 did not ask him what it was. She looked down. 
 
 " You know perfectly well what I am going to 
 eay," he continued; "you know what I want most 
 when I come of age I want my wife I want you. 
 Margaret, you must have guessed my secret long
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 45 
 
 She did not answer him for nearly a minute 
 then she softly and timidly stretched out one of 
 her hands he grasped it in his. 
 
 " You have guessed you do know you're not 
 astonished nor shocked at my words?" 
 
 "Your secret was mine, too," she answered in a 
 whisper. 
 
 " You will marry me, Margaret you'll make me 
 the happiest of men?" 
 
 "I will be your wife if you wish it, Kobert," she 
 replied. 
 
 She stood up as she spoke. She was tall, but he 
 was a little taller he put his arms round her, 
 drew her close to him, and kissed her passion 
 ately. 
 
 Half-an-hour afterward they left the woods side 
 by side. 
 
 "Don't tell anybody to-day," said Margaret. 
 
 " Why not? I don't feel as if I could keep it to 
 myself even for an hour longer." 
 
 "Still, humor me, Kobert; remember I am su 
 perstitious." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 "I am ashamed to confess it I would rather 
 that our engagement was not known until the day 
 of the murder has gone by."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MARGARET DOUGLAS lived with her cousins, the 
 Cuthberts. Sir John Cuthbert was the Squire of 
 a parish at a little distance from Grandcourt. He 
 was a wealthy man and was much thought of in 
 his neighborhood. Margaret was the daughter of 
 a sister who had died many years ago she was 
 poor, but this fact did not prevent the county as 
 signing her a long time ago to Eobert Awdrey as 
 his future wife. The attachment between the pair 
 had been the growth of years. They had spent 
 their holidays together, and had grown up to a 
 great extent in each other's company it had never 
 entered into the thoughts of either to love any one 
 else. Awdrey, true to his promise to Margaret, 
 said nothing about his engagement, but the secret 
 was after all an open one. When the young cou 
 ple appeared again among the rest of Sir John 
 Cuthbert' s guests, they encountered more than one 
 significant glance, and Lady Cuthbert even went 
 to the length of kissing Margaret with much fervor 
 in Awdrey' s presence. 
 
 "You must come back with us to Cuthbertstowu 
 to supper," she said to the young Squire. 
 
 tt
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 47 
 
 "Yes, come, Robert," said Margaret, with a 
 smile. 
 
 He found it impossible to resist the invitation in 
 her eyes. It was late, therefore, night, in fact, 
 when he started to walk back to Grandcourt. He 
 felt intensely happy as he walked. He had much 
 reason for this happiness had he not just won the 
 greatest desire of his life? There was nothing to 
 prevent the wedding taking place almost imme 
 diately. As he strode quickly over the beautiful 
 summer landscape he was already planning the 
 golden future which lay before him. He would 
 live in London, he would cultivate the considerable 
 abilities which he undoubtedly possessed. He 
 would lead an active, energetic, and worthy life. 
 Margaret already shared all his ambitions. She 
 would encourage him to be a man in every sense of 
 the word. How lucky he was how kind fate was 
 to him ! Why were the things of life so unevenly 
 divided? Why was one man lifted to a giddy pin 
 nacle of joy and another hurled into an abyss of 
 despair? How happy he was that evening 
 whereas Everett he paused in his quick walk as 
 the thought of Everett flashed before his mind's 
 eye. He didn't know the unfortunate man who 
 was now awaiting the coroner's inquest, charged 
 with the terrible crime of murder, but he had seen 
 him twenty-four hours ago. Everett had looked 
 jolly and good-tempered, handsome and strong, as 
 he stood in the porch of the pretty little inn, and 
 smoked his pipe and looked at Hetty when Awdrey
 
 48 DR. RUMSEY'8 PATIENT. 
 
 brought her home. Now a terrible and black doom 
 was overshadowing him. Awdrey could not help 
 feeling deeply interested in the unfortunate man. 
 He was young like himself. Perhaps he, too, had 
 dreamed dreams, and been full of ambition, and 
 perhaps he loved a girl, and thought of making her 
 his wife. Perhaps Hetty was the girl if so Aw 
 drey stamped his foot with impatience. 
 
 "What mischief some women do," he muttered; 
 " what a difference there is between one woman and 
 another. Who would suppose that Margaret 
 Douglas and Hetty Armitage belonged to the same 
 race? Poor Frere, how madly in love he was with 
 that handsome little creature ! How little she cared 
 for the passion which she had evoked. I hope she 
 won't come in my path; I should like to give her 
 a piece of my mind. 
 
 This thought had scarcely rushed through Aw 
 drey 's brain before he was attracted by a sound in 
 the hedge close by, and Hetty herself stood before 
 him. 
 
 " I thought you would come back this way, Mr. 
 Kobert," she said. " I've waited here by the hedge 
 for a long time on purpose to see you." 
 
 The Squire choked down a sound of indignation 
 the hot color rushed to his cheeks it was with 
 difficulty he could keep back his angry words. 
 One glance, however, at Hettj^'s face caused his 
 anger to fade. The lovely little face was so com 
 pletely changed that he found some difficulty in 
 recognizing it. Hetty's pretty figure had always
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 49 
 
 been the perfection of trim neatness. No London 
 belle could wear her expensive dresses more neatly 
 nor more becomingly. Her simple print frocks 
 fitted her rounded figure like a glove. The roses 
 on her cheeks spoke the perfection of perfect 
 health; her clear dark eyes were wont to be as 
 open and untroubled as a child's. Her wealth of 
 coal-black hair was always neatly coiled round her 
 shapely head. Now, all was changed, the pretty 
 eyes were scarcely visible between their swollen 
 lids the face was ghastly pale in parts blotched 
 with ugly red marks in others ; there were great 
 black shadows under the eyes, the lips were 
 parched and dry, they drooped wearily as if in ut 
 ter despair. The hair was untidy, and one great 
 coil had altogether escaped its bondage, and hung 
 recklessly over the girl's neck and bosom. Her 
 cotton dress was rumpled and stained, and the 
 belt with which she had hastily fastened it togeth 
 er, was kept in its place by a large pin. 
 
 Being a man, Awdrey did not notice all these 
 details, but the tout ensemble, the abject depression 
 of intense grief, struck him with a sudden pang. 
 
 "After all, the little thing loved that poor fel 
 low," he said to himself; "she was a little fool to 
 trifle with him, but the fact that she loved him al 
 ters the complexion of affairs." 
 
 "What can I do for you?" he said, speaking in 
 a gentle and compassionate voice. 
 
 " I have waited to tell you something for nearly 
 two hours, Mr. Robert" 
 4
 
 50 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 " Why did you do it? If you wanted to say any 
 thing to me, you could have come to the Court, or 
 I'd have called at the Inn. What is it you want to 
 say?" 
 
 " I could not come to the Court, sir, and I could 
 not send you a message, because no one must 
 know that we have met. I came out here unknown 
 to any one ; I saw you go home from Cuthberte- 
 town with Miss Douglas." Here Hetty choked 
 down a sob. " I waited by the hedge, for I knew 
 you must pass back this way. I wished to say, 
 Mr. Robert, to tell you, sir, that whatever happens, 
 however matters turn out, I'll be true to you. 
 No one shall get a word out of me. They say it's 
 awful to be cross-examined, but I'll be true. I 
 thought I'd let you know, Mr. Awdrey. To my 
 dying day I'll never let out a word you need 
 have no fear." 
 
 "I need have no fear," said Awdrey, in absolute 
 astonishment. "What in the world do you mean? 
 What are you talking about?" 
 
 Hetty looked full up into the Squire's face. The 
 unconscious and unembarrassed gaze with which 
 he returned her look evidently took her breath 
 away. 
 
 "I made a mistake," she said in a whisper. " I 
 see that I made a mistake. I'd rather not say 
 what I came to say." 
 
 a But you must say it, Hetty ; you have some 
 thing more to tell me, or you wouldn't have taken 
 oil this trouble to wait by the roadside on the
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 51 
 
 chance of my passing. What is it? Out with it 
 now, like a good girl." 
 
 " May I walk along a little bit with you, Mr. 
 Sober*?" 
 
 " You may as far as the next corner. There our 
 roads part, and you must go home." 
 
 Hetty shivered. She gave the Squire another 
 furtive and undecided glance. 
 
 " Shall I tell him?" she whispered to herself. 
 
 Awdrey glanced at her, and spoke impatiently. 
 
 "Come, Hetty; remember I'm waiting to hear 
 your story. Out with it now, be quick about it." 
 
 "I was out last night, sir." 
 
 "You were out when? Not after I saw you 
 home?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. " Hetty choked again. " It was after 
 ten o'clock." 
 
 " You did very wrong. Were you out alone?" 
 
 "Ys, sir. I I followed Mr. Frere on to the 
 Plain." 
 
 " You did?" said Awdrey. a Is that fact known? 
 Did you see anything?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 B Then why in the name of Heaven didn't you 
 come up to the Court this morning and tell my 
 father. Your testimony may be most important. 
 Think of the position of that poor unfortunate 
 young Everett." 
 
 "No, sir, I don't think of it." 
 
 "What do you mean, girl?" 
 
 " Let me tell you my story, Mr. Awdrey. If it
 
 66 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 is nothing to you it is nothing. You will soon 
 know if it is nothing or not. I had a quarrel with 
 Mr. Frere last night. Nobody was by ; Mr. Frere 
 came into Aunt's parlor and he spoke to me very 
 angrily, and I I told him something which made 
 him wild." 
 
 "What was that?" 
 
 Hetty gave a shy glance up at the young Squire; 
 his face looked hard, his lips were firmly set. He 
 and she were walking on the same road, but he 
 kept as far from her side as possible. 
 
 " I will not tell him at least I will not tell him 
 yet," she said to herself. 
 
 "I think I won't say, sir," she replied. "What 
 we talked about was Mr. Frere's business and 
 mine. He asked me if I loved another man better 
 than him, and I I said that I did, sir." 
 
 "I thought as much," reflected Awdrey; "Ever 
 ett is the favored one. If this fact is known it will 
 go against the poor fellow." 
 
 "Well, Hetty," he interrupted, "it's my duty 
 to tell you that you behaved very badly, and are 
 in a great measure responsible for the awful trag 
 edy that has occurred. There, poor child, don't 
 cry. Heaven knows, I don't wish to add to your 
 trouble ; but see, we have reached the cross-roads 
 where we are to part, and you have not yet told 
 me what you saw when you went out." 
 
 "I crept out of my bedroom window," said 
 Hetty. " Aunt and uncle had gone to bed. I can 
 easily get out of the window, it opens right on the
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 53 
 
 cow-house, and from there I can swing myself into 
 the laburnum-tree, and so reach the ground. I 
 got out, and followed Mr. Frere. Presently I saw 
 that Mr. Everett was also out, and was following 
 him. I knew every yard of the Plain well, far bet 
 ter than Mr. Everett did. I went to it by a short 
 cut round by Sweetbriar Lane you know the 
 part there not far from the Court. I had no 
 sooner got on the Plain than I saw Mr. Frere he 
 was running I thought he was running to meet 
 me he came forward by leaps and bounds very 
 fast suddenly he stumbled and fell. I wanted to 
 call him, but my voice, sir, it wouldn't rise, it 
 seemed to catch in my throat. I couldn't manage 
 to say his name. All of a sudden the moon went 
 down, and the plain was all gray with black shad 
 ows. I felt frightened awfully. I was deter 
 mined to get to Mr. Frere. I stumbled on pres 
 ently I fell over the trunk of a tree. My fall 
 stunned me a bit when I rose again there were 
 two men on the Plain. They were standing facing 
 each other. Oh, Mr. Awdrey, I don't think I'll 
 say any more." 
 
 "Not say any more? You certainly must, girl," 
 cried Awdrey, his face blazing with excitement. 
 " You saw two men facing each other Frere and 
 Everett, no doubt." 
 
 Hetty was silent. After a moment, during which 
 her heart beat loudly, she continued to speak in a 
 very low voice. 
 
 " It was so dark that the men looked like shad-
 
 54 DR. EUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 ows. Presently I heard them talking they were 
 quarrelling. All of a sudden they sprang together 
 like like tigers, and they fought. I heard the 
 sound of blows one of them fell, the taller one 
 he got on to his feet in a minute : they fought a 
 second time, then one gave a cry, a very sharp, 
 sudden cry, and there was the sound of a body 
 falling with a thud on the ground afterward, si 
 lence not a sound. I crept behind the furze bush. 
 I was quite stunned. After a long time at least 
 it seemed a long time to me one of the men went 
 away, and the other man lay on his back with hia 
 face turned up to the sky. The man who had 
 killed him turned in the direction of " 
 
 " In what direction?" asked Awdrey. 
 
 "In the direction of " Hetty looked full up 
 
 at the Squire; the Squire's eyes met hers. "The 
 town, sir." . 
 
 "Oh, the town," said Awdrey, giving vent to a 
 short laugh. " From the way you looked at me, 
 I thought you were going to say The Court." 
 
 "Sir, Mr. Kobert, do you think it was Mr. 
 Everett?" 
 
 "Who else could it have been?" replied Awdrey. 
 
 "Very well, sir, I'll hold to that. Who else 
 could it have been? I thought I'd tell you, Mr. 
 Awdrey. I thought you'd like to know that I'd 
 hold to that. When the steps of the murderer died 
 away, I stole back to Mr. Frere, and I tried to 
 bring him back to life, but he was as dead as a 
 stone. I left him and I went home. I got back to
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 65 
 
 my room about four in the morning. Not a soul 
 knew I was out; no one knows it now but you, sir. 
 I thought I'd come and tell you, Mr. Kobert, that 
 I'd hold to the story that it was Mr. Everett who 
 committed the murder. Good-night, sir." 
 
 * Good-night, Hetty. You'll have to tell my 
 father what you have told me, in the morning." 
 
 "Very well, sir, if you wish it." 
 
 Hetty turned and walked slowly back toward 
 the village, and Awdrey stood where the four roads 
 met and watched her. For a moment or two he 
 was lost in anxious thought then he turned 
 quickly and walked home. He entered the house 
 by the same side entrance by which he had come 
 in on the previous night. He walked down a long 
 passage, crossed the wide front hall, and entered 
 the drawing-room where his sister Ann was seated. 
 
 "Is that you, Bob?" she said, jumping up when 
 she saw him. " I'm so glad to have you all to my 
 self. Of course, you were too busy with Margaret 
 to take any notice of us all day, but I've been dy 
 ing to hear your account of that awful tragedy. 
 Sit here like a dear old fellow and tell me the 
 story." 
 
 "Talk of women and their tender hearts," said 
 Awdrey, with irritation. 
 
 Then the memory of Margaret came over him 
 and his face softened. Margaret, whose heart was 
 quite the tenderest thing in all the world, had also 
 wished to hear of the tragedy. 
 
 a To tell the truth, Ann," he said, sinking into a
 
 58 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 chair by Iris sister's side, " you can scarcely ask 
 me to discuss a more uncongenial theme. Of 
 course, the whole thing will be thoroughly inves 
 tigated, and the local papers will be filled with 
 nothing else for weeks to come. Won't that con 
 tent you? Must I, too, go into this painful sub 
 ject?" 
 
 Ann was a very good-natured girl. 
 
 "Certainly not, dear Bob, if it worries you," 
 she replied; "but just answer me one question. 
 Is it true that you met the unfortunate man last 
 night?" 
 
 "Quite true. I did. We had a sort of quar 
 rel." 
 
 "Good gracious! Why, Eobert, if you had 
 been out late last night they might have suspected 
 you of the murder." 
 
 Awdrey's face reddened. 
 
 " As it happens, I went to bed remarkably early," 
 he said; "at least, such is my recollection." As 
 he spoke he looked at his sister with knitted 
 brows. 
 
 "Why, of course, don't you remember, you said 
 you were dead beat. Dorothy and I wanted you 
 to sing with us, but you declared you were as 
 hoarse as a raven, and went off to your bedroom 
 immediately after supper. For my part, I was so 
 afraid of disturbing you that I wouldn't even knock 
 when I pushed that little note about Margaret 
 under the door." 
 
 gave her brother a roguish glance when aha
 
 DR. EUMSEY'S PATIENT. 57 
 
 mentioned Margaret's name. He did not notice it. 
 He was thinking deeply. 
 
 "I am tired to-night, too," he said. "I have an 
 extraordinary feeling in the back of my head, as if 
 it were numbed. I believe I want more sleep. 
 This horrid affair has upset me. Well, good 
 night, Ann, I'm off to bed at once." 
 
 "But supper is ready." 
 
 "I had something at Cuthbertstown; I don't 
 want anything more. Good-night."
 
 CHAPTEE VL 
 
 HETTY dragged herself wearily home she had 
 waited to see the young Squire in a state of intense 
 and rapt excitement. He had received her news 
 with marvellous indifference. The excitement he 
 had shown was the ordinary excitement which an 
 outsider might feel when he received startling and 
 unlooked for tidings. There was not a scrap of 
 personal emotion in his manner. Was it possible 
 that he had forgotten all about the murder which 
 he himself had committed? Hetty was not a na 
 tive of Grandcourt without knowing something of 
 the tragedy which hung over the Court. Was it 
 possible that the doom of the house had really 
 overtaken Robert Awdrey? Hetty with her own 
 eyes had seen him kill Horace Frere. Her own 
 eyes could surely not deceive her. She rubbed 
 them now in her bewilderment. Yes, she had seen 
 the murder committed. Without any doubt Aw 
 drey was the man who had struggled with Frere. 
 Frere had thrown him to the ground ; he had risen 
 quickly again. Once more the two men had rushed 
 at each other like tigers eager for blood there had 
 been a scuffle a fierce, awful wrestle. A wrestle 
 which had been followed by a sudden leap forward 
 on the part of the young Squire he had used his
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 69 
 
 stick as men use bayonets in battle there had 
 come a groan from Frere's lips he had staggered 
 his body had fallen to the ground with a heavy 
 thud then had followed an awful silence. Yes, 
 Hetty had seen the whole thing. She had watched 
 the terrible transaction from beginning to end. 
 After he had thrown his man to the ground the 
 Squire had struck a match, and had looked hard 
 into the face of the dead. Hetty had seen the lu 
 rid light flash up for an instant on the Squire's 
 face it had looked haggard and gray like the 
 face of an old man. She had watched him as he 
 examined the slender stick with which he had 
 killed his foe. She observed him then creep across 
 the Plain to a copse of young alders. She had 
 seen him push the stick out of sight into the mid 
 dle of the alders she had then watched him as he 
 went quickly home. Yes, Robert Awdrey was the 
 guilty man Frank Everett was innocent, as inno 
 cent as a babe. All day long Hetty's head had 
 been in a mad whirl. She had kept her terrible 
 knowledge to herself. Knowing that a word from 
 her could save him, she had allowed Everett to be 
 arrested. She had watched him from behind her 
 window when the police came to the house for the 
 purpose, she had seen Everett go away in the com 
 pany of two policemen. He was a square-built 
 young fellow with broad shoulders he had held 
 himself sturdily as an Englishman should, when 
 he walked off, an innocent man, to meet an awful 
 doom. Hetty, as she watched, crushed down the
 
 60 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 cry in her heart it had clamored to save this man. 
 There was a louder cry there a fiercer instinct. 
 The Squire belonged to her own people she was 
 like a subject, and he was her king to the people 
 of Grandcourt the king could do nothing wrong. 
 They were old-fashioned in the little village, and 
 had somewhat the feeling of serfs to their feudal 
 lord. Hetty shared the tradition of her race. But 
 over and above these minor matters, the unhappy 
 girl loved Robert Awdrey with a fierce passion. 
 She would rather die herself than see him die. 
 When she saw Everett arrested, she watched the 
 whole proceeding in dull amazement. She won 
 dered why the Squire had not acted a man's part. 
 Why did he not deliver himself up to the course of 
 justice? He had killed Frere in a moment of mad 
 passion. Hetty's heart throbbed. Could that 
 passion have been evoked on her account? Of 
 course, he would own to his sin. He had not done 
 so; on the contrary, he had gone to a picnic. He 
 had been seen walking about with the young lady 
 whom he loved. Did Robert Awdrey really love 
 Margaret Douglas? 
 
 * If that is the case, why should not I give him 
 up?" thought Hetty. " He cares .nothing for me. 
 I am less than the thistle under his feet. Why 
 should I save him? Why should Mr. Everett die 
 because of him? The Squire cares nothing for me. 
 Why should I sin on his account?" 
 
 These thoughts, when they came to her, were 
 quickly hurled aside by others.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 61 
 
 * I'd die twenty times over rather than he should 
 suffer," thought the girl. "He shan't die, he's 
 my king, and I'm his subject. It does not matter 
 whether he loves me or not, he shan't die. Yes, 
 he loves that beautiful Miss Douglas she belong! 
 to his set, and she'll be his wife. Perhaps she 
 thinks that she loves him. Oh, oh !" 
 
 Hetty laughed wildly to herself. 
 
 " After all, she doesn't know what real love is. 
 She little guesses what I feel; she little guesses? 
 that I hold his life in my hands. O God, keep 
 me from going mad 1" 
 
 It was dark when Hetty re-entered the Inn. 
 The taproom was the scene of noisy excitement. 
 It was crowded with eager and interested villagers. 
 The murder was the one and only topic of conver 
 sation. Armitage was busy attending to his nu 
 merous guests, and Mrs. Armitage kept going 
 backward and forward between the taproom and 
 the little kitchen at the back. 
 
 When she saw Hetty she called out to her in a 
 sharp tone. 
 
 " Where have you been, girl?" she cried. "Now 
 just look here, your uncle won't have you stealing 
 out in this fashion any more. You are to stay at 
 home when it is dark. Why, it's all over the 
 place, it's in every one's mouth, that you have been 
 the cause of the murder. You encouraged that 
 poor Mr. Frere with your idle, flighty, silly ways 
 and looks, and then you played fast and loose with 
 him. Don't you know that this is just the thing
 
 88 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 that will ruin us? Yes, you'll be the ruin of u\ 
 Hetty, and times so bad, too. When are we likely 
 to have parlor lodgers again?" 
 
 "Oh, Aunt, I wish you wouldn't scold me," an 
 swered Hetty. She sank down on the nearest 
 chair, pushed her hat from her brow, and pressed 
 her hand to it. 
 
 "Sakes, child!" exclaimed her aunt, "you do 
 look white and bad to be sure." 
 
 Mrs. Armitage stood in front of her niece, and 
 eyed her with a critical gaze. 
 
 "It's my belief, after all, that you really cared 
 for the poor young man," she said. " For all your 
 silly, flighty ways you gave him what little heart 
 you possess. If he meant honest by you, you 
 couldn't have done better they say he had lots of 
 money, and not a soul to think of but himself. I 
 don't know how your uncle is to provide for you. 
 But there, you've learned your lesson, and I hopa 
 you'll never forget it." 
 
 "Aunt Fanny, may I go up-stairs to my room?" 
 
 u Hoity toity I nothing of the kind. You've got 
 to work for your living like the rest of us. Put on 
 your apron and help me to wash up the dishes." 
 
 Hetty rose wearily from her chair. The body 
 of the murdered man lay out straight and still in 
 the little front parlor. Many people had been in 
 and out during the afternoon; many people had 
 gazed solemnly at the white face. The doctor had 
 examined the wound in the eye. The coroner had 
 come to view the dead. All was in readiness for
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 63 
 
 the fnquest, which was to take place at an early 
 hour on the following day. No one as yet had 
 wept a single tear over the dead man. Mrs. Armi- 
 tage came to Hetty now and asked her to go and 
 fetch something out of the parlor. A paper which 
 had been left on the mantelpiece was wanted by 
 Armitage in a hurry. 
 
 "Go, child, be quick!" said the aunt. "You'll 
 find the paper by that vase of flowers on the man 
 telpiece." 
 
 Hetty obeyed, never thinking of what she was to 
 see. There was no artificial light in the room. 
 On the centre-table, in a rude coffin which had 
 been hastily prepared, lay the body. It was cov 
 ered by a white sheet. The moon poured in a 
 ghastly light through the window. The form of 
 the dead man was outlined distinctly under the 
 sheet. Hetty almost ran up against it when she 
 entered the room. Her nerves were overstrung; 
 she was not prepared for the sight which met her 
 startled eyes; uttering a piercing shriek, she 
 rushed from the room into her Aunt Fanny's arms. 
 
 "Now, whatever is the matter?" said the elder 
 woman. 
 
 "You shouldn't have sent me in there," panted 
 Hetty. "You should have told me that it was 
 there." 
 
 " Well, well, I thought you knew. What a silly 
 little good-for-nothing you are! Stay quiet and 
 I'll run and fetch the paper. Dear, dear, I'm glad 
 you are not my niece; it's Armitage you belong to,**
 
 64 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 Mrs. Armitage entered the parlor, fetched the 
 required paper, and shut the door behind her. As 
 she walked down the passage Hetty started quickly 
 forward and caught her arm. 
 
 "If I don't tell somebody at once I'll go mad," 
 she said. u Aunt Fanny, I must speak to you at 
 once. "I can't keep it to myself another minute." 
 
 "Good gracious me! whatever is to be done, 
 Hetty? How am I to find time to listen to your 
 silly nonsense just now? There's your uncle nearly 
 wild with all the work being left on his hands." 
 
 a It isn't silly nonsense, Aunt Fanny. I've got 
 to say something. I know something. I must 
 tell it to you. I must tell it to you at once." 
 
 "Why, girl," said Mrs. Armitage, staring hard 
 at her niece, " yon are not making a fool of me, are 
 you?" 
 
 "No. I'll go up to my room. Come to me as 
 soon as ever you can. Tell Uncle that you are 
 tired and must go to bed at once. Tell any lie, 
 make any excuse, only come to me quickly. I'm 
 in such a state that if you don't come I'll have to 
 go right into the taproom and tell every one what I 
 know. Oh, Aunt Fanny ! have mercy on me and 
 come quickly." 
 
 "You do seem in a way, Hetty," replied the 
 aunt. " For goodness sake do keep yourself calm. 
 There, run up-stairs and I'll be with you in a min 
 ute or two." 
 
 Mrs. Armitage went into the taproom to her hus 
 band.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 5 
 
 "Look here, John," she sad, "I've got a split* 
 ting headache, and Hetty is fairly knocked up. 
 Can't you manage to do without us for the rest of 
 the evening?" 
 
 "Of course, wife, if you're really bad," replied 
 Armitage. " There's work here for three pairs of 
 hands," he added, " but that can't be helped, if you 
 are really bad." 
 
 " Yes, I am, and as to that child, she is fairly 
 done." 
 
 "I'm not surprised. I wonder she's alive when 
 she knows the whole thing is owing to her. Little 
 hussy, I'd like to box her ears, that I would." 
 
 "So would I for that matter," replied the wife, 
 " but she's in an awful state, poor child, and if I 
 don't get her to bed, she'll be ill, and there will be 
 more money out of pocket." 
 
 "Don't waste your strength sitting up with her, 
 wife, she ain't worth it," Armitage called out, as 
 his wife left the room. 
 
 A moment later, Mrs. Armitage crept softly 
 up-stairs. She entered Hetty's little chamber, 
 which was also flooded with moonlight. It was a 
 tiny room, with a sloping roof. Its little lattice 
 window was wide open. Hetty was kneeling by 
 the window looking out into the night. The mo 
 ment she saw her aunt she rose to her feet, and ran 
 to meet her. 
 
 "Lock the door, Aunt Fanny," she said, in a 
 hoarse whisper. 
 
 " Oh, child, whatever has come to you?" 
 I
 
 66 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "Lock the door, Aunt Fanny, or let me do it." 
 
 " There, I'll humor you. Here's the key. I'll 
 put it into my pocket. Why don't you have a 
 light, Hetty?" 
 
 * I don't want it the moon makes light enough 
 for me. I have something to say to you. If I 
 don't tell it, I shall go mad. You must share it 
 with me, Aunt Fanny. You and I must both know 
 it, and we must keep it to ourselves forever and 
 ever and ever." 
 
 "Lor, child ! what are you talking about?" 
 
 "I'll soon tell you. Let me kneel close to you. 
 Hold my hand. I never felt so frightened in all 
 my life before." 
 
 "Out with it, Hetty, whatever it is." 
 
 "Aunt, before I say a word, you've got to make 
 me a promise." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " You won't tell a soul what I am going to say to 
 you." 
 
 "I hate making promises of that sort, Hetty." 
 
 "Never mind whether you hate it or not. 
 Promise or I shall go mad." 
 
 " Oh, dear me !" exclaimed Mrs. Armitage, " why 
 should a poor woman be bothered'in this way, and 
 you neither kith nor kin to me. Don't you forget 
 that it's Armitage you belong to. You've no blood 
 of mine, thank goodness, in your veins." 
 
 "What does that matter. You're a woman, and 
 
 I'm another. I'm just in the most awful position 
 
 . a girl could be in. But whatever happens, I'll bo
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 67 
 
 true to him. Yes, Aunt Fanny, I'll be true to 
 him. I'm nothing to him, no more than if I were- 
 a weed, but I love him madly, deeply, desperately. 
 He is all the world to me. He ,is my master, and 
 I am his slave. Of course I'm nothing to him, but 
 he's everything to me, and he shan't die. Aunt 
 Fanny, you and I have got to be true to him. We 
 must share the thing together, for I can't keep the 
 secret by myself. You must share it with me, 
 Aunt Fanny." 
 
 Up to this point, Mrs. Armitage had regarded 
 Hetty's words as merely those of a hysterical and 
 overwrought girl. Now, however, she began to 
 perceive method in her madness. 
 
 "Look here, child," she said, " if you've got any 
 thing to say, say it, and have done with it. I'm 
 not blessed with over much patience, and I can't 
 stand beating round the bush. If you have a se 
 cret, out with it, you silly thing. Oh, yes, of course 
 I won't betray you. I expect it's just this, you've 
 gone and done something you oughtn't to. Oh, 
 what have I done to be blessed with a niece-in-law 
 like you? 
 
 " It's nothing of that sort, Aunt Fanny. It is 
 this I don't mind telling you now, now that you 
 have promised not to betray me. Aunt Fanny, I 
 was out last night I saw the murder committed." 
 
 Mrs. Armitage suppressed a sharp scream. 
 
 "Heaven preserve us!" she said, in a choking 
 voice. "Were you not in bed, you wicked girl?" 
 
 "No, I was out. I had quarrelled with Mr.
 
 68 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 Frere in the parlor, and I thought I'd follow him 
 and make it up. I went straight on to the Plain 
 I saw him running. I hid behind a furze bush 
 and I saw the quarrel, and I heard the words I 
 saw the awful struggle, and I heard the blows. I 
 heard the fall, too and I saw the man who had 
 killed Mr. Frere run away." 
 
 u I wonder you never told all this to-day, Hetty 
 Armitage. Well, I'm sorry for that poor Mr. 
 Everett. Oh, dear, what will not our passions lead 
 us to ; to think that two young gentlemen should 
 come to this respectable house, and that it should 
 be the case of Cain and Abel over again one ris 
 ing up and slaying the other." 
 
 Hetty, who had been kneeling all this time, now 
 rose. Her face was ghastly her words came out 
 in strange pauses. 
 
 "It wasn't Mr. Everett," she said. 
 
 "Good Heavens! Hetty," exclaimed her aunt, 
 springng also to her feet, and catching the girl's 
 two hands within her own " It wasn't Mr. Everett! 
 what in the world do you mean?" 
 
 a What I say, Aunt Fanny the man who killed 
 Mr. Frere was Mr. Awdrey. Our Mr. Awdrey, 
 Aunt Fanny, and I could die for him and no one 
 must ever know and I saw him this evening, and 
 and he has forgotten all about it. He doesn't 
 know a bit about it not a bit. Oh, Aunt Fanny, 
 I shall go quite mad, if you don't promise to help 
 me to keep my secret."
 
 CHAPTEE YIT. 
 
 tt SIT down, Hetty, and keep yourself quiet," said 
 Mrs. Armitage. 
 
 Her manner had completely changed. A 
 stealthy, fearful look crept into her face. She went 
 on tiptoe to the door to assure herself over again 
 that it was locked. She then approached the win 
 dow, shut it, fastened it, and drew a heavy moreen 
 curtain across it. 
 
 "When one has secrets," she said, "it is best to 
 be certain there are no eavesdroppers anywhere." 
 
 She then lit a candle and placed it on the centre 
 of the little table. 
 
 Having done this, she seated herself she didn't 
 care to look at Hetty. She felt as if in a sort of 
 way she had committed the murder herself. The 
 knowledge of the truth impressed her so deeply 
 that she did not care to encounter any eyes for a 
 few minuttes. 
 
 "Aunt Fanny, why don't you speak to me?" 
 asked the girl at last. 
 
 " You are quite sure, child, that you have told 
 me the truth?" said Mrs. Armitage then. 
 
 " Yes it is the truth is it likely that I could 
 invent anything so fearful?" 
 
 "No, it ain't likely," replied the elder woman, 
 "but I don't intend to trust just to the mere word 
 
 tt
 
 70 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 of a slip of a giddy girl like you. You must swear 
 it is there a Bible in the room?" 
 
 "Oh, don't, Aunt, I wish you wouldn't." 
 
 " Stop that silly whining of yours, Hetty ; what 
 do your wishes matter one way or the other? If 
 you've told me the truth an awful thing has hap 
 pened, but I won't stir in the matter until I know 
 it's gospel truth. Tes, there's your Testament 
 the Testament will do. Now, Hetty Armitage, 
 hold this book in your hand, and say before God 
 in heaven that you saw Mr. Robert Awdrey kill Mr. 
 Horace Frere. Kiss the book, and tell the truth 
 if you don't want to lose your soul." 
 
 Hetty trembled from head to foot. Her nature 
 was impressionable the hour the terrible excite 
 ment she had just lived through the solemn, 
 frightened expression of her aunt's face, irritated 
 her nerves to the last extent. She had the utmost 
 difficulty in keeping herself from screaming aloud. 
 
 "What do you want me to do?" she said, hold 
 ing the Testament between her limp fingers. 
 
 " Say these words : * I, Hetty Armitage, saw Mr. 
 Robert Awdrey kill Mr. Horace Frere on Salis 
 bury Plain last night. This is the truth, so help 
 meGod.' r 
 
 "I, Hetty Armitage, saw Mr. Robert Awdrey 
 kill Mr. Horace Frere on Salisbury Plain last 
 night. This is the truth, so help me God," re 
 peated Hetty, in a mechanical voice. 
 
 "Kiss the Book now, child," said the aunt. 
 
 Hetty raised it to her lips.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 71 
 
 "Give me the Testament." 
 
 Mrs. Armitage took it in her hands. 
 
 H Aunt Fanny, what in the world do yon mean 
 to do now?" said the girl. 
 
 "You are witness, Hetty; you are witness to 
 what I mean to do. It is all for the sake of the 
 Family. What are poor folks like us and our con 
 sciences, and our secrets, compared to the Family? 
 This book has not done its work yet. Now I am 
 going to take an oath on the Testament. I, Fran 
 ces Armitage, swear by the God above, and the Bi 
 ble He has given us, that I will never tell to mortal 
 man the truth about this murder." 
 
 Mrs. Armitage finished her words by pressing 
 the Testament to her lips. 
 
 "Now you swear," she said, giving the book back 
 again to her niece. 
 
 Hetty did so. Her voice came out in broken 
 sobs. Mrs. Armitage replaced the Testament on 
 the top shelf of Hetty's little bookcase. 
 
 "There," she said, wiping her brow, "that's 
 done. You saw the murder committed; you and I 
 have sworn that we'll never tell what we know. 
 We needn't talk of it any more. Another man 
 will swing for it. Let him swing. He is a nice 
 fellow, too. He showed me the photograph of his 
 mother one day. She had white hair and eyes 
 like his; she looked like a lady every inch of 
 her. Mr. Everett said, *I am her only child, Mrs. 
 Armitage; I'm all she has got.' He had a pleas 
 ant smile wonderful, and a good face. Poor lad.
 
 73 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 if it wasn't the Family I had to be true to I 
 wouldn't let him swing. They say down-stairs that 
 the circumstantial evidence is black against him." 
 
 "Perhaps, after all, they cannot convict him, 
 Aunt." 
 
 "What do you know about it? I say they can 
 and will, but don't let us talk of it any more. The 
 one thing you and I have to do is to be true to the 
 Family. There' s not a second thought to be 
 given to the matter. Sit down, Hetty; don't keep 
 hovering about like that. I think I had better send 
 you away from home ; only I forgot, you are sure 
 to be called upon as a witness. You must see that 
 your face doesn't betray you when you're cross- 
 examined." 
 
 "No, it won't," said the girl. "I've got you to 
 help me now. I can talk about it sometimes, and 
 it won't lie so heavily on my heart. Aunt Fanny, 
 do you really think Mr. Awdrey forgets?" 
 
 " Do I think it? I know it. I don't trouble to 
 think about what I know. It's in their blood, I 
 tell you. The things they ought to remember are 
 wiped out of their brains as clean as if you washed 
 a slate after using it. My mother was cook in the 
 Family, and her mother and her mother before 
 her again. We are Perrys, and the Perrys had 
 always a turn for cooking. We've cooked the din 
 ner up at the Court for close on a hundred years. 
 Don't you suppose I know their ways by this time? 
 Oh, I could tell you of fearful things. There have 
 been dark deeds done before now, and the men who
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 73 
 
 did them had no more memory of their own sin 
 than if they were babies of a month old. There 
 was a Squire two generations back he was my 
 grandmother knew him and he had a son. The 
 mother was ! but there! where's the use of go 
 ing into that. The mother died raving mad, and 
 the Squire knew no more what he had done than 
 the babe unborn. Folks call it the curse of God. 
 It's an awful doom, and it always comes on just as 
 it has fallen on the young Squire. There comes a 
 fit of passion a desperate deed is done or a des 
 perate sorrow is met, and all is blank. They 
 wither up afterward just as if the drought was in 
 them. He'll die young, the young Squire will, just 
 like his forefathers. "What's the good of crying, 
 Hetty? Crying won't save him he'll die young. 
 Blood for blood. God will require that young 
 man's blood at his hands. He can't escape it's 
 in his race; but at least he shan't hang for it if 
 you and I can keep him from the gallows. Hetty, 
 put your hand in mine and tell me all over again 
 what you saw." 
 
 " I can't bear to go over it again, Aunt Fanny 
 it seems burnt into me like fire. I can think of 
 nothing else I can think of no face but Mr. Aw- 
 drey's I can only remember the look on his face 
 when he bent over the man he had killed. I saw 
 his face just for a minute by the light of the match, 
 and I never could have believed that human face 
 could have looked like that before. It was old 
 like the face of an old man. But I met him this
 
 74 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 evening, Aunt Fanny, and lie had forgotten all 
 about it, and he was jolly and happy, and they 
 say he was seen with Miss Douglas to-day. The 
 family had a picnic on the Plain, and Miss Doug 
 las was there, with her uncle, Sir John Cuthbert, 
 and there were a lot of other young ladies. Mr. 
 Awdrey went back to Cuthbertstown with Miss 
 Douglas. It was when he was returning to the 
 Court I met him. All the world knows he wor 
 ships the ground she walks on. I suppose he'll 
 marry her by and by, Aunt he seemed so happy 
 and contented to-night." 
 
 "I suppose he will marry her, child that is the 
 best thing that could happen to him, and she's a 
 nice young lady and his equal in other ways. He 
 happy, did you say ? Maybe he is for a bit, but 
 he's a gone man for all that nothing, nor no one 
 can keep the doom of his house from him. What 
 are you squeezing my hand for, Hetty?" 
 
 * I can't bear to think of the Squire marrying 
 Miss Douglas." 
 
 "Stuff and nonsense! What is the Squire to 
 you, except as one of the Family. You'd better 
 mind your station, Hetty, and leave your betters 
 to themselves. If you don't you'll get into awful 
 trouble some day. But now the night is going on, 
 and we've got something to do. Tell me again 
 how that murder was done." 
 
 " The Squire ran at Mr. Frere, and the point of 
 Jus stick ran into Mr. Frere's eye." 
 
 "What did he do with the stick?"
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT 75 
 
 * He went to a copse of young alders and thrust 
 it into the middle. Oh, it's safe enough." 
 
 "Nothing of the kind it isn't safe at all. How 
 do you know they won't cut those alders down and 
 find the stick? Mr. Robert's walking-stick is well 
 known it has a silver plate upon it with his name. 
 Years hence people may come across that stick, 
 and all the county will know at once who it belonged 
 to. Come along, Hetty you and I have our work 
 to do." 
 
 "What is that, Aunt Fanny?" 
 
 " Before the morning dawns we must bury that 
 stick where no one will find it." 
 
 " Oh, Aunt, don't ask me I can't go back to the 
 Plain again." 
 
 " You can and must I wouldn't ask you, but I 
 couldn't find the exact spot myself. I'll go down 
 first and have a word with Armitage, and then re 
 turn to you." 
 
 Mrs. Armitage softly unlocked the door of her 
 niece's room, and going first to her own bedroom, 
 washed her ashen face with cold water ; she then 
 rubbed it hard with a rough towel to take some of 
 the tell-tale expression out of it. Afterward she 
 stole softly down-stairs. Her husband was busy 
 in the taproom. She opened the door, and called 
 his name. 
 
 "Armitage, I want you a minute." 
 
 "Mercy on us, I thought you were in bed an 
 hour ago, wife," he said. "Why, you do look bad, 
 what's the matter?"
 
 76 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "It isn't me, it's the child she's hysterical. 
 I've been having no end of a time with her ; I came 
 down to say that I'd sleep with Hetty to-night. 
 Good-night, Armitage." 
 
 "Good-night," said the man. "I say, wife, 
 though," he called after her, "see that you are up 
 in good time to-morrow." 
 
 "Never fear," exclaimed Mrs. Armitage, as she 
 ascended the creaking stairs, "I'll be down and 
 about at six." 
 
 She re-entered her niece's bedroom and locked 
 the door. 
 
 " How did you get out last night?" she asked. 
 
 "Through the window." 
 
 "Well, you're a nice one. This is not the time 
 to scold you, however, and you and I have got to 
 go out the same way now. They'll think we are in 
 our bed let them think it. Come, be quick show 
 me the way out. It's a goodish step from here to 
 the Plain ; we've not a minute to lose, and not a 
 soul must see us going or returning." 
 
 Mrs. Armitage was nearly as slender and active 
 as her niece. She accomplished the descent from 
 the window without the least difficulty, and soon 
 she and Hetty were walking quickly in the direc 
 tion of the Plain they kept well in the shadow of 
 the road and did not meet a soul the entire way. 
 .During that walk neither woman spoke a word to 
 the other. Presently they reached the Plain. 
 Hetty trembled as she stood by the alder copse. 
 
 "Keep your courage up," whispered Mrs. Armi-
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 77 
 
 tage, "we must bury that stick where no one can 
 find it." 
 
 " Don't bury it, Aunt Fanny," whispered Hetty. 
 " I have thought of something there's the pond 
 half a mile away. Let us weight the stick with 
 stones and throw it into the pond." 
 
 " That's a good thought, child, we'll do it."
 
 CHAPTER VIEL 
 
 THE village never forgot the week when the young 
 Squire came of age. During that week many im 
 portant things happened. The usual festivities 
 were arranged to take place on Monday, for on 
 that day the Squire completed his twenty-first year. 
 On the following Thursday Robert Awdrey was to 
 marry Margaret Douglas, and between these two 
 days, namely, on Tuesday and Wednesday, Frank 
 Everett was to be tried for the murder of Horace 
 Frere at Salisbury. It will be easily believed, 
 therefore, that the excitement of the good folks all 
 over the country reached high-water mark. Quite 
 apart from his position, the young Squire was 
 much loved for himself. His was an interesting 
 personality. Even if this had not been so, the 
 fact of his coming of age, and the almost more in 
 teresting fact of his marriage, would fill all who 
 knew him with a lively sense of pleasure. The 
 public gaze would be naturally "turned full upon 
 this young man. But great as was the interest 
 which all who knew him took in Awdrey, it was 
 nothing to that which was felt with regard to a 
 man who was a stranger in the county, but whose 
 awful fate now filled all hearts and minds. The 
 strongest circumstantial evidence was against 
 
 78
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 79 
 
 Frank Everett, but beyond circumstantial evidence 
 there was nothing but good to be known of this 
 young man. He had lived in the past, as far as 
 all could tell, an immaculate life. He was the only 
 son of a widowed mother. Mrs. Everett had taken 
 lodgings in Salisbury, and was awaiting the issue 
 of the trial with feelings which none could fathom. 
 
 As the week of her wedding approached, Mar 
 garet Douglas showed none of the happy expect 
 ancy of a bride. Her face began to assume a worn 
 and anxious expression. She could hardly think of 
 anything except the coming trial. A few days be 
 fore the wedding she earnestly begged her lover to 
 postpone the ceremony for a short time. 
 
 "I cannot account for my sensations, Robert," 
 she said. "The shadow of this awful tragedy 
 seems to shut away the sunshine from me. You 
 cannot, of course, help coming of age on Monday, 
 but surely there is nothing unreasonable in my 
 asking to have the wedding postponed for a week. 
 I will own that I am superstitious I come of a 
 superstitious race my grandmother had the gift 
 of second sight perhaps I inherit it also, I cannot 
 say. Do yield to me in the matter, Bobert. Do 
 postpone the wedding." 
 
 Awdrey stood close to Margaret. She looked 
 anxiously into his eyes ; they met hers with a curi 
 ous expression of irritation in them. The young 
 squire was pale ; there were fretful lines round his 
 mouth. 
 
 "I told you before," he said, "that I am affected
 
 80 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 with a strange and unaccountable apathy with re 
 gard to this terrible murder. I try with all my 
 might to get up sympathy for that poor unfortu 
 nate Everett. Try as I may, however, I utterly 
 fail to feel even pity for him. Margaret, I would 
 confess this to no one in the world but yourself. 
 Everett is nothing to me you are everything. 
 "Why should I postpone my happiness on Everett's 
 account?" 
 
 "You are not well, dearest," said Margaret, look 
 ing at him anxiously. 
 
 "Yes, I am, Maggie," he replied. "You must 
 not make me fanciful. I never felt better in my 
 
 life, except " Here he pressed his hand to his 
 
 brow. 
 
 "Except?" she repeated. 
 
 " Nothing really I have a curious sensation of 
 numbness in the back of my head. I should think 
 nothing at all about it but for the fact " 
 
 Here he paused, and looked ahead of him stead- 
 ily. 
 
 "But for what fact, Eobert?" 
 
 "You must have heard it must have been whis 
 pered to you every one all over the county knows 
 that sometimes sometimes, Maggie, queer things 
 happen to men of our house." 
 
 " Of course, I have heard of what you allude to," 
 she answered brightly. "Do you think I mind? 
 Do you think I believe in the thing? Not I. I am 
 not superstitious in that way. So you, dear old 
 fellow, are imagining that you are to be one of the
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIfiNT. fcl 
 
 victims of that dreadful old curse. Best assured 
 that you will be nothing of the kind. I have a 
 cousin he is in the medical profession you shall 
 know him when we go to London. I spoke to Dr. 
 Rumsey once about this curious phase in your 
 family history. He said it was caused by an ex 
 traordinary state of nerves, and that the resolute 
 power of will was needed to overcome it. Dr. 
 Eumsey is a very interesting man, Robert. He 
 believed in heredity; who does not? but he also 
 firmly believes that the power of will, rightly 
 exercised, can be more powerful than heredity. 
 Now, I don't mean you to be a victim to that old 
 family failing, so please banish the thought from 
 your mind once and for ever." 
 
 Awdrey smiled at her. 
 
 "You cheer me," he said. "I am a lucky man 
 to have found such a woman as you to be my wife. 
 You will help to bring forward all that is best in 
 me. Margaret, I feel that through you I shall 
 conquer the curse which lies in my blood." 
 
 u There is no curse, Robert. When your grand 
 father married a strong-minded Scotch wife the 
 curse was completely arrested the spell re 
 moved." 
 
 "Yes," said Awdrey, "of course you are per 
 fectly right. My father has never suffered from a 
 trace of the family malady, and as for me, I didn't 
 know what nervousness meant until within the last 
 month. I certainly have suffered from a stupid 
 lapse of memory during the last month."
 
 82 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "We all forget things at times," said Margaret. 
 "What is it that worries you?" 
 
 " Something so trifling that you will laugh when 
 I tell you. You know my favorite stick?" 
 
 " Of course. By the way, you have not used it 
 lately." 
 
 " I have not. It is lost. I have looked for it 
 high and low, and racked my memory in vain to 
 know where I could have put it. When last I re 
 member using it, I was talking to that unfortunate 
 young Frere in the underwood. I wish I could 
 find it not for the sake of the stick, but because, 
 nnder my circumstances, I don't want to forget 
 things." 
 
 "Well, every one forgets things at times you 
 will remember where you have put the stick when 
 you are not thinking of it." 
 
 "Quite true; I wish it didn't worry me, how 
 ever. You know that poor Frere met his death in 
 the most extraordinary manner. The man who 
 killed him ran his walking-stick into his eye. The 
 doctors say that the ferrule of the stick entered the 
 brain, causing instantaneous death. Everett car 
 ried a stick, but the ferrule was a little large for 
 the size of the wound made. Now my stick " 
 
 "Really, Robert, I won't listen to you for an 
 other moment," exclaimed Margaret. "The next 
 thing you will do is to assure me that your stick 
 was the weapon which caused the murder." 
 
 "No," he replied, with a spasm of queer pain. 
 " Of course, Maggie, there is nothing wrong, only
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 83 
 
 with our peculiar idiosyncrasies, small lapses of 
 memory make one anxious. I should be happy if 
 I could find the stick, and happier still if this 
 numbness would leave the back of my head. But 
 your sweet society will soon put me right." 
 
 "I mean it to," she replied, in her firm way. 
 
 "You will marry me, dearest, on the twenty- 
 fourth?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "you are first, first of all. 
 I will put aside my superstition the wedding shall 
 not be postponed. " 
 
 " Thank you a thousand times how happy you 
 make me !" 
 
 Awdrey went home in the highest spirits. 
 
 The auspicious week dawned. The young 
 Squire's coming of age went off without a flaw. 
 The day was a perfect one in August. All the ten 
 ants assembled at the Court to welcome Awdrey to 
 his majority. His modest and graceful speech was 
 applauded on all sides. He never looked better 
 than when he stood on a raised platform and ad 
 dressed the tenants who had known him from his 
 babyhood. Some day he was to be their landlord. 
 In Wiltshire the tie between landlord and tenant is 
 very strong. The spirit of the feudal times still in 
 a measure pervades this part of the country. The 
 cheers which followed Awdrey 's speech rose high 
 on the evening air. Immediately afterward there 
 was supper on the lawn, followed by a dance. 
 Among those assembled, however, might have 
 been seen two anxious faces one of them belonged
 
 84 DR. RUIUSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 to Mrs. Armitage. She had been a young-looking 
 woman for her years, until after the night of the 
 murder now she looked old, her hair was sprin 
 kled with gray, her face had deep lines in it, there 
 was a touch of irritation also in her manner. She 
 and Hetty kept close together. Sometimes her 
 hand clutched hold of the hand of her niece and 
 gave it a hard pressure. Hetty's little hand trem 
 bled, and her whole frame quivered with almost un 
 controllable agony when Mrs. Armitage did this. 
 All the gay scene was ghastly mockery to poor 
 Hetty. Her distress, her wasted appearance, 
 could not but draw general attention to her. The 
 little girl, however, had never looked more beauti 
 ful nor lovely. She was observed by many people ; 
 strangers pointed her out to one another. 
 
 " Do you see that little girl with the beautiful 
 face?" they said. "It was on her account that the 
 tragedy took place." 
 
 Presently the young Squire came down and 
 asked Mrs. Armitage to open the ball with him. 
 
 "You do me great honor, sir," she said. She 
 hesitated, then placed her hand on his arm. 
 
 As he led her away, his eyes met those of 
 Hetty. 
 
 "I'll give you a dance later on," he said, nod 
 ding carelessly to the young girl. 
 
 She blushed and pressed her hand to her heart. 
 
 There wasn't a village lad in the entire assembly 
 who would not have given a year of his life to 
 dance even once with beautiful little Hetty, but she
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 85 
 
 declined all the village boys' attentions that 
 evening. 
 
 "She wasn't in the humor to dance," she said. 
 "Oh, yes, of course, she would dance with the 
 Squire if he asked her, but she would not bestow 
 her favors upon any one else." She sat down pres 
 ently in a secluded corner. Her eyes followed 
 Awdrey wherever he went. By and by Margaret 
 Douglas noticed her. There was something about 
 the childish sad face which drew out the compas 
 sion of Margaret's large heart. She went quickly 
 across the lawn to speak to her. 
 
 "Good-evening, Hetty," she said, "I hope you 
 are well?" 
 
 Hetty stood up ; she began to tremble. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Douglas, I am quite well," she an 
 swered. 
 
 "You don't look well," said Margaret. "Why 
 are you not dancing?" 
 
 "I haven't the heart to dance," said Hetty, 
 turning suddenly away. Her eyes brimmed with 
 sudden tears. 
 
 " Poor little girl ! how could I be so thoughtless 
 as to suppose she would care to dance," thought 
 Margaret. "All her thoughts must be occupied 
 with this terrible trial Bobert told me that she 
 would be the principal witness. Poor little thing. " 
 
 Margaret stretched out her hand impulsively and 
 grasped Hetty's. 
 
 I feel for you I quite understand you," she 
 said. Her voice trembled with deep and full sym-
 
 86 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 pathy. " I see that you are suffering a great deal, 
 but you will be better afterward you ought to go 
 away afterward you will want change." 
 
 "I would rather stay at home, please, Miss 
 Douglas." 
 
 "Well, I won't worry you. Here is Mr. Aw- 
 drey. You have not danced once, Hetty. Would 
 you not like to have a dance with the Squire, just 
 for luck? Yes, I see you would. Robert, come 
 here." 
 
 " What is it?" asked Awdrey. " Oh, is that you, 
 Hetty? I have not forgotten our dance." 
 
 "Dance with her now, Robert," said Margaret. 
 " There is a waltz just striking up I will meet 
 you presently on the terrace. " 
 
 Margaret crossed the lawn, and Awdrey gave his 
 arm to Hetty. She turned her large gaze upon 
 him for a moment, her lips trembled, she placed 
 her hand on his arm. " Yes, I will dance with him 
 once," she said to herself. "It will please me I 
 am doing a great deal for him, and it will strength 
 en me to have this pleasure. Oh, I hope, I do 
 hope I'll be brave and silent, and not let the awful 
 pain at my heart get the better of me. Please, 
 Gocl, help me to be true to Mr. Robert. " 
 
 "Come, Hetty, why won't you talk?" said the 
 Squire ; he gave her a kindly yet careless glance. 
 
 They began to waltz, but Hetty had soon to 
 pause for want of breath. 
 
 " You are not well, " said Awdrey ; " let me lead 
 you out of the crowd. Here, let us sit the dance
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 87 
 
 out under this tree ; now you are better, are you 
 not?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; oh, yes, Mr. Eobert, I am much bet 
 ter now." She panted as she spoke. 
 
 "How pale you are," said Awdrey "and you 
 used to be such a blooming, rosy little thing. 
 Well, never mind," he added hastily, "I ought 
 not to forget that you have a good deal to worry 
 you just now. You must try to keep up your 
 courage. All you have to do to-morrow when you 
 go into court is to tell the entire and exact truth." 
 
 " You don't mean me to do that, you can't," said 
 Hetty. She opened her eyes and gave a wild 
 startled glance. The next moment hef whole face 
 was covered with confusion. "Oh, what have I 
 said?" she cried, in consternation. "Of course, I 
 will tell the exact and perfect truth." 
 
 " Of course," said Awdrey, surprised at her man 
 ner. "You will be under oath, remember." He 
 stood up as he spoke. " Now let me take you to 
 your aunt." 
 
 "One moment first, Mr. Eobert; I'd like to ask 
 you a question." 
 
 " Well, Hetty, what is it?" said the young man, 
 kindly. 
 
 Hetty raised her eyes for a moment, then she 
 lowered them. 
 
 "It's a very awful thing, the kind of thing that 
 God doesn't forgive," she said in a whisper, "for 
 for a girl to tell a lie when she's under oath?" 
 
 "It is perjury," said Awdrey, in a sharp, short
 
 88 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 voice. * Why should you worry your head about 
 such a matter?" 
 
 " Of course not, sir, only I'd like to know. I 
 hope you'll be very happy with your good lady, 
 Mr. Awdrey, when you're married. I think I'll 
 go home now, sir. I'm not quite well, and it 
 makes me giddy to dance. I wish you a happy 
 life, sir, and and Miss Douglas the same. If you 
 see Aunt Fanny, Mr. Robert, will you tell her that 
 I've gone home?" 
 
 "Yes, to be sure I will. Good-by, Hetty. 
 Here, shake hands, won't you? God bless you, 
 little girl. I hope you will soon be all right." 
 
 Hetty crept slowly away ; she looked like a little 
 gray shadow as she returned to the village, passing 
 silently through the lovely gardens and all the 
 sweet summer world. Beautiful as she was, she 
 was out of keeping with the summer and the time 
 of gayety. 
 
 Against Awdrey's wish Margaret insisted on be 
 ing present during the first day of the trial. Ever 
 ett's trial would in all probability occupy the 
 whole of two days. Awdrey was to appear in 
 court as witness. His evidence and that of Hetty 
 Armitage and the laborer who had seen Frere run 
 ning across the plain would probably sum up the 
 case against the prisoner. Hetty's evidence, how 
 ever, was the most important of all. Some of the 
 neighbors said that Hetty would never have strength 
 to go through the trial. But when the little crea 
 ture stepped into the witness-box, there was no
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 89 
 
 perceptible want of energy about her her cheeks 
 were pink with the color of excitement, her lovely 
 eyes shone brightly. She gave her testimony in a 
 clear, penetrating, slightly defiant voice. That 
 voice of hers never once faltered. Her eyes full of 
 desperate courage were fixed firmly on the face of 
 the solicitor who examined her. Even the terrible 
 ordeal of cross-examination was borne without 
 flinching ; nor did Hetty once commit herself, or 
 contradict her own evidence. At the end of the 
 cross-examination, however, she fainted off. It 
 was noticed afterward by eye-witnesses that Hetty's 
 whole evidence had been given with her face 
 slightly turned away from that of the accused man. 
 It was after she had inadvertently met his eyes 
 that she turned white to the very lips, and fell 
 down fainting in the witness-box. She was carried 
 away immediately, and murmurs of sympathy fol 
 lowed her as she was taken out of the court. 
 Hetty was undoubtedly the heroine of the occasion. 
 Her remarkable beauty, her modesty, the ring of 
 truth which seemed to pervade all her unwilling 
 words, told fatally against poor Everett. 
 
 She was obliged to return to court on the second 
 day, but Margaret did not go to Salisbury on that 
 occasion. After the first day of the trial Margaret 
 spent a sleepless night. She was on the eve of her 
 own wedding, but she could think of nothing but 
 Everett and Everett's mother. Mrs. Everett was 
 present at the trial. She wore a widow's dress and 
 her veil was down, but once or twice she raised it
 
 90 [DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 and looked at her son ; the son also glanced at his 
 mother. Margaret had seen these glances, and 
 they wrung her heart to its depths. She felt that 
 she could not be in court when the verdict was 
 given. She was so excited with regard to the is 
 sue of the trial that she gave no attention to those 
 minor matters which usually occupy the minds of 
 young brides. 
 
 u It doesn't matter, " she said to her maid ; " pack 
 anything you fancy into my travelling trunk. Oh, 
 yes, that dress will do ; any dress will do. What 
 hats did you say? Any hats, I don't care. I'm 
 going to Grandcourt now, there may be news from 
 Salisbury." 
 
 "They say, Miss Douglas, that the Court won't 
 rise until late to-night. The jury are sure to take 
 a long time to consider the case." 
 
 "Well, I'm going to Grandcourt now. Mr. Aw- 
 drey may have returned. I shall hear the latest 
 news." 
 
 Margaret arrived at the Court just before dinner. 
 Her future sisters-in-law, Anne and Dorothy, ran 
 out on the lawn to meet her. 
 
 " Oh, how white and tired you look !" 
 
 "I am not a bit tired; you know I am always 
 pale. Dorothy, has any news come yet from Salis 
 bury?" 
 
 "Nothing special," replied Dorothy. "The 
 groom has come back to tell us that we are not to 
 wait dinner for either father or Robert. You will 
 come into the house now, won't you, Margaret?"
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 91 
 
 " No, I'd rather stay out here. I don't want any 
 dinner. " 
 
 " Nor do I. I will stay with you, " said Dorothy. 
 "Isn't there a lovely view from here? I love this 
 part of the grounds better than any other spot. 
 You can just get a peep of the Cathedral to the 
 right and the Plain to the left." 
 
 " I hate the Plain, " said Margaret, with a shiver. 
 "I wish Grandcourt didn't lie so near it." 
 
 Dorothy Awdrey raised her delicate brows in 
 surprise. 
 
 "Why, the Plain 13 the charm of Grandcourt," 
 she exclaimed. "Surely, Margaret, you are not 
 going to get nervous and fanciful, just because a 
 murder was committed on the Plain." 
 
 " Oh, no !" Margaret started to her feet. " Ex 
 cuse me, Dorothy, I see Robert coming up the 
 avenue." 
 
 " So he is. Stay where you are, and I'll run and 
 get the news." 
 
 "No, please let me go." 
 
 "Margaret, you are ill." 
 
 "I am all right," replied Margaret. 
 
 She ran swiftly down the avenue. 
 
 Awdrey saw her, and stopped until she came up 
 to him. 
 
 " Well?" she asked breathlessly. 
 
 He put both his hands on her shoulders, and 
 looked steadily into her eyes. 
 
 "The verdict," she said. "Quick, the verdict." 
 
 " Guilty, Maggie ; but they have strongly recom-
 
 93 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 mended him to mercy. Maggie, Maggie, my dar 
 ling, what is it?" 
 
 She flung her arms round his neck, and hid her 
 trembling face against his breast. 
 
 " I can't help it, " she said. u It is the eve of our 
 wedding-day. Oh, I feel sick with terror sick 
 with sorrow."
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 AETHUB EUMSEY, M.D., F.E.C.S., was one of the 
 
 most remarkable men of his time. He was un 
 married, and lived in a large house in Harley 
 Street, where he saw many patients daily. He 
 was on the staff of more than one of the big Lon 
 don hospitals, and one or two mornings in each 
 week had to be devoted to this public sendee, 
 which occupies so much of the life of a busy and 
 popular doctor. Eumsey was not only a clever, 
 all-round man, but he was also a specialist. The 
 word nerve that queer complex word, with its 
 many hidden meanings, its daily and hourly fresh 
 renderings that word, which belongs especially to 
 the end of our century, he seized with a grip of 
 psychological intensity, and made it his principal 
 study. By slow degrees and years of patient toil 
 he began to understand the nerve power in man. 
 From the study of the nerves to the study of the 
 source of all nerves, aches and pains, joys and de 
 lights, the human brain, was an easy step. Eum 
 sey was a brain specialist. It began to be re 
 ported of him, not only in the profession, but 
 among that class of patients who must flock to 
 such a man, when he had performed wonderful 
 and extraordinary cures, that to him was given 
 insight almost superhuman. It was said of 
 
 03
 
 94 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 Eumsey that lie could read motives and could also 
 unravel the most complex problems of the psycho 
 logical world. 
 
 Five years had passed since Margaret Douglas 
 found herself the bride of Robert Awdrey. These 
 five years had been mostly spent by the pair in 
 London. Being well off, Awdrey had taken a good 
 house in a fashionable quarter. He and Margaret 
 began to entertain, and were popular from the very 
 first, in their own somewhat large circle. They 
 were now the parents of one beautiful child, a boy, 
 and the outside world invariably spoke of them as 
 a prosperous and a very happy couple. 
 
 Everett did not expiate his supposed crime by 
 death. The plea of the jury for mercy resulted in 
 fourteen years' penal servitude. Such a sentence 
 meant, of course, a living death ; he had quite sunk 
 out of ken almost out of memory. Except in 
 the heart of his mother and in the tender heart of 
 Margaret Awdrey, this young man, whose career 
 had promised to be so bright, so satisfactory, such 
 a blessing to all who knew him, was completely 
 forgotten. 
 
 In his mother's heart, of course, he was safely 
 enshrined, and Margaret also, although she had 
 never spoken to him, and never saw his face until 
 the day of the trial, still vividly remembered him. 
 
 When her honeymoon was over and she found 
 herself settled in London, one of her first acts was 
 to seek out Mrs. Everett, and to make a special 
 friend of the forlorn and unhappy widow.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 95 
 
 Both Margaret and Mrs. Everett soon found that 
 they had a strong bond of sympathy between them. 
 They both absolutely believed in Frank Everett's 
 innocence. The subject, however, was too painful 
 to the elder woman to be often alluded to, but 
 knowing what was in Margaret's heart she took a 
 great fancy to her, always spoke to her with affec 
 tion, took a real interest in her concerns, and was 
 often a visitor at her home. 
 
 Four years after the wedding the elder Squire 
 died. He was found one morning dead in his bed, 
 having passed peacefully and painlessly away. 
 Awdrey was now the owner of Grandcourt, but for 
 some reason which he could not explain, even to 
 himself, he did not care to spend much time at the 
 old place Margaret was often there for months at 
 a time, but Awdrey preferred London to the Court, 
 and a week at a time was the longest period he 
 would ever spend under the old roof. Both his 
 sisters were now married and had homes of their 
 own the place in consequence began to grow a lit 
 tle into disuse, although Margaret did what she 
 could for the tenantry, and whenever she was at the 
 Court was extremely popular with her neighbors. 
 But she did not think it right to leave her husband 
 long alone he clung to her a good deal, seeking 
 her opinion more and more as the months and 
 years went by, and leaning upon her to an extra 
 ordinary extent for a young and clever man. 
 
 Awdrey had grown exceptionally old for his age 
 in. the five years since his marriage. He was only
 
 96 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 twenty-six, but some white streaks were already to 
 be found in his thick hair, and several wrinkles 
 were perceptible round his dark gray eyes. He 
 had not gone into Parliament he had not distin 
 guished himself by any literary work. His own 
 ambitious dreams and his wife's longings for him 
 faded one by one out of sight. He was a gentle, 
 kindly mannered man generous with his money, 
 sympathetic up to a certain point over every tale of 
 woe, but there was a curious want of energy about 
 him, and as the days and months flew by, Mar 
 garet's sense of trouble, which always lay near her 
 heart, unaccountably deepened. 
 
 The great specialist, Arthur Bumsey, was about 
 to give a dinner. It was his custom to give one 
 once a fortnight during the London season. To 
 these dinners he not only invited his own friends 
 and the more favored among his patients, but many 
 celebrated men of science and literature ; a few also 
 of the better sort of the smart people of society 
 were to be met on these occasions. Although there 
 was no hostess, Rumsey's dinners were popular, 
 his invitations were always eagerly accepted, and 
 the people who met each other at his house often 
 spoke afterward of these occasions as specially de 
 lightful. 
 
 In short, the dinners partook of that intellectual 
 quality which makes, to quote an old-world phrase, 
 "the feast of reason and the flow of soul." On 
 Rumsey 's evenings, the forgotten art of conversation 
 seemed once again to struggle to re-assert itself,
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 97 
 
 Kobert Awdrey and his wife were often among 
 the favored guests, and were to be present at this 
 special dinner. Margaret was a distant cousin of 
 the great physician, and shortly after her arrival 
 in London had consulted him about her husband. 
 She had told him all about the family history, and 
 the curious hereditary taint which had shown it 
 self from generation to generation in certain mem 
 bers of the men of the house. He had listened 
 gravely, and with much interest, saying very little 
 at the time, and endeavoring by every means in his 
 power to soothe the anxieties of the young wife. 
 
 " The doom you dread may never fall upon your 
 husband," he said finally. "The slight inertia of 
 mind which he complains of is probably more due 
 to nervous fear than to anything else. It is a pity 
 he is so well off. If he had to work for his living, 
 he would soon use his brain to good and healthy 
 purpose. That fiat which fell upon Adam is in 
 reality a blessing in disguise. There is no surer 
 cure for most of the fads and fancies of the present 
 day than the commai id which ordains to man that 
 'In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread.' ' 
 
 Margaret's anxious eyes were fixed upon the 
 great doctor while he was speaking. 
 
 " Your husband must make the best of his cir 
 cumstances," he continued, in a cheerful tone. 
 " Crowd occupation upon him ; get him to take up 
 any good intellectual work with strength and vigor. 
 If you see he is really tired out, do not over-worry 
 lum. Get him to travel with you; get him to read 
 9
 
 98 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 books with real stuff in them; occupy his mind at 
 any risk. When he begins to forget serious mat 
 ters it will be time enough to come to the conclu 
 sion that the hereditary curse has descended upon 
 him. Up to the present he has never forgotten 
 anything of consequence, has he?" 
 
 "Nothing that I know of," answered Margaret 
 Then she added, with a half-smile, "The small 
 lapse of memory which I am about to mention, you 
 will probably consider beneath your notice, never 
 theless it has irritated my husband to a strange 
 degree. You have doubtless heard of the tragic 
 murder of Horace Frere, which took place on 
 Salisbury Plain a few weeks before our wed 
 ding?" 
 
 Rumsey nodded. 
 
 " On the night of the murder my husband lost 
 Ms favorite walking-stick. He has worried cease 
 lessly over that small fact, referring to it constantly 
 and always complaining of a certain numbness in 
 the back of his head when he does so. The fact is 
 he met the unfortunate man who was murdered 
 early in the afternoon. At that time he had his 
 stick with him. He can never recall anything 
 about it from that moment, nor has he seen it from 
 then to now." 
 
 The doctor laughed good-humoredly. 
 
 "There is little doubt," he said, "that the fear 
 that the doom of his house may fasten upon him 
 has affected your husband's nerves. The lapse of 
 memory to which you refer means nothing at all.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 99 
 
 Keep him occupied, Mrs. Awdrey, keep him occu 
 pied. That is my best advice to you." 
 
 Margaret went away feeling reassured and al 
 most happy, but since the date of that conversa 
 tion Rumsey never forgot Awdrey 's queer case. 
 He possessed that extraordinary and perfect mem 
 ory himself, which does not allow the smallest de 
 tail, however apparently unimportant, to escape 
 observation, and often as he talked to his guest 
 across his dinner table, he observed him with a 
 keenness of interest which he could himself scarcely 
 account for. 
 
 On this particular evening more guests than 
 usual were assembled at the doctor's house. Six 
 teen people had sat down to dinner and several 
 fresh arrivals were expected in- the evening. 
 Among the dining guests was Mrs. Everett. She 
 was a tall, handsome woman of about forty-five 
 years of age. Her hair was snow-white and was 
 piled high up over her head her face was of a 
 pale olive hue, with regular features, and very 
 large, piercing, dark eyes. The eyebrows were 
 well arched and somewhat thickly marked they 
 were still raven black, and afforded a striking con 
 trast to the lovely thick hair which shone like a 
 mass of silver above her brow. 
 
 Everett's mother always wore black, but, curious 
 to relate, she had discarded widow's weeds soon 
 after her son's incarceration. Before that date she 
 had been in character, and had also lived the life 
 of an ordinary, affectionate, and thoroughly ami-
 
 100 DR. RVMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 able woman. Keen as her sorrow in parting with 
 the husband of her youth was, she contrived to 
 weave a happy nest in which her heart could take 
 shelter, in the passionate love which she gave to 
 her only son. But from the date of his trial and 
 verdict, the woman's whole character, the very ex 
 pression on her face, had altered. Her eyes had 
 now a watchful and intent look. She seemed like 
 some one who had set a mission before herself. 
 She had the look of one who lived for a hidden pur 
 pose. She no longer eschewed society, but went 
 into it even more frequently than her somewhat 
 slender means afforded. She made many new ac 
 quaintances and was always eager to win the con 
 fidence of those who cared to confide in her. Her 
 own story she never touched upon, but she gave a 
 curious kind of watchful sympathy to others which 
 was not without its charm. 
 
 On this particular night, the widow's eyes were 
 brighter and more restless than usual. Dr. Bum- 
 sey knew all about her story, and had often coun^ 
 selled her with regard to her present attitude 
 toward society at large. 
 
 "My boy is innocent," she had said many times 
 to the doctor. " The object of my life is to prove 
 this. I will quietly wait, I will do nothing rash, 
 but it is my firm conviction that I shall yet be per 
 mitted to find and expose the man who killed 
 Horace Frere." 
 
 Eumsey had warned her as to the peril which 
 she ran in fostering too keenly a fixed idea ha
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 101 
 
 had taken pains to give her psychological reasons 
 for the danger which she incurred but nothing he 
 could say or do could alter the bias of her mind. 
 Her fixed and unwavering assurance that her boy 
 was absolutely innocent could not be imperilled by 
 any words which man could speak. 
 
 " If I had even seen my boy do the murder I 
 should still believe it to be a vision of my own 
 brain," she had said once, and after that Rumsey 
 had ceased to try to guide her thoughts into a 
 healthier channel. 
 
 On this particular night when the doctor came 
 up-stairs after wine, accompanied by the rest of the 
 men of the party, Mrs. Everett seemed to draw him 
 to her side by her watchful and excited glances. 
 
 There was something about the man which could 
 never withstand an appeal of human need he 
 went straight now to the widow's side as a needle 
 is attracted to a magnet. 
 
 "Well," he said, drawing a chair forward, and 
 seating himself so as almost to face her. 
 
 "You guessed that I wanted to see you?" she 
 said eagerly. 
 
 "I looked at you and that was sufficient," he 
 said. 
 
 "When can you give me an interview?" she re 
 plied. 
 
 " Do you want to visit me as a patient?" 
 
 "I do not that is, not in the ordinary sense. 
 I want to tell you something. I have a story to 
 relate, and when it is told I should like to get
 
 102 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 your verdict on a certain peculiar case in short, 1 
 believe I have got a clue, if only a slight one, to 
 the unravelling of the mystery of my life you 
 quite understand?" 
 
 "Yes, I understand," replied Dr. Rumsey in a 
 gentle voice, " but, my dear lady, I am not a de 
 tective." 
 
 " Not in the ordinary sense, but surely as far as 
 the complex heart is concerned." 
 
 Dr. Rumsey held up his hand. 
 
 "We need not go into that," he said. 
 
 "No, we will not. May I see you to-morrow 
 for a few minutes?" 
 
 The doctor consulted his note-book. 
 
 " I cannot see you as a patient, " he said, " but 
 as a friend it is possible. Can you be here at 
 eight o'clock to-morrow morning? I breakfast at 
 eight my breakfast generally occupies ten min 
 utes that time is at your disposal." 
 
 "I will be with you. Thank you a thousand 
 times," she replied. 
 
 Her eyes grew bright with exultation. The 
 doctor favored her with a keen glance and moved 
 aside. A few minutes later he_ found himself in 
 Margaret Awdrey's vicinity. Margaret was now a 
 very beautiful woman. As a girl she had been 
 lovely, but her early matronhood had developed 
 her charms, had added to her stateliness, and had 
 brought out many new and fresh expressions in 
 her mobile and lovely face. 
 
 As Eumsey approached her side, she was in
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 103 
 
 act of taking leave of an old friend of her hus 
 band's, who was going away early. The Doctor 
 was therefore able to watch her for a minute with 
 out her observing him then she turned slightly, 
 saw him, flushed vividly, and went eagerly and 
 swiftly to his side. 
 
 " Dr. Rumsey, " said Margaret, " I know this is 
 not the place to make appointments, but I am anx 
 ious to see you on the subject of my husband's 
 health. How soon can you manage " 
 
 "I can make an appointment for to-morrow," he 
 interrupted. " Be with me at half-past one. I can 
 give you half an hour quite undisturbed then." 
 
 She did not smile, but her eyes were raised fully 
 to his face. Those dark, deep eyes so full of the 
 noblest emotions which can stir the human soul, 
 looked at him now with a pathos that touched his 
 heart. He moved away to talk to other friends, 
 but the thought of Margaret Awdrey returned to 
 him many times during the ensuing night.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 AT the appointed hour on the following morning 
 Mrs. Everett was shown into Dr. Eumsey's pres 
 ence. She found him in his cosy breakfast-room, 
 in the act of helping himself to coffee. 
 
 "Ah!" he said, as he placed a chair for her, 
 B what an excellent thing this punctuality is in a 
 woman. Sit down, pray. You shall have your 
 full ten minutes the clock is only on the stroke 
 of eight." 
 
 Mrs. Everett looked too disturbed and anxious 
 even to smile. She untied her bonnet-strings, 
 threw back her mantle, and stared straight at Dr. 
 Eumsey. 
 
 "No coffee, thank you," she said. "I break 
 fasted long ago. Dr. Eumsey, I am nearly wild 
 with excitement and anxiety. I told you long ago, 
 did I not, that a day would come when I should 
 get a clue which might lead to establishing my 
 boy's" she wet her lips " my only boy's inno 
 cence? Nothing that can happen now will ever, of 
 course, repair what he has lost his lost youth, 
 his lost healthy outlook on life but to set him 
 free, even now! To give him his liberty once 
 again! To feel the clasp of his hand on mine! 
 Ah, I nearly go mad at times with longing, but 
 
 10*
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 105 
 
 thank God, thank the Providence which is above 
 us all, I do believe I have found a clue at last." 
 
 "Tell me what it is," said the doctor, in a kind 
 voice. "I know," he added, "you will make your 
 story as brief as possible." 
 
 "I will, my good friend," she replied. She 
 stood up now, her somewhat long arms hung at 
 her sides, she turned her face in all its intense 
 purpose full upon the doctor. 
 
 "You know my restless nature," she continued. 
 K I can seldom or never sit still even my sleep is 
 broken by terrible dreams. All the energy which 
 I possess is fixed upon one thought, and one only 
 I want to find the real murderer of Horace 
 Frere." 
 
 "Yes," said Dr. Rumsey. 
 
 "A fortnight ago I made up my mind to do a 
 queer thing. I determined to visit Grandcourt 
 I mean the village of that name." 
 
 The doctor started. 
 
 "You are surprised?" said Mrs. Everett; 
 "nevertheless I can account for my longings." 
 
 "You need not explain. I quite understand." 
 
 " I believe you do. I felt drawn to the place 
 to the Tnn where my son stayed, to the neighbor 
 hood. I travelled down to Grandcourt without 
 announcing my intention to any one, and arrived at 
 the Inn just as the dusk was setting in. The land 
 lord, Armitage by name, came out to interview me. 
 I told him who I was. He looked much disturbed, 
 and by no means pleased. I asked him if he
 
 106 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 would take me in. He went away to consult hia 
 wife. She followed him after a moment into the 
 porch with a scared face. 
 
 " ' I wonder, ma'am, that you like to come here,' 
 she said. 
 
 " ' I come for one purpose,' I replied. * I want 
 to see the spot where Horace Frere met his death. 
 I am drawn to this place by the greatest agony 
 which has ever torn a mother's heart. Will you 
 take me in, and will you give me the room in which 
 my son slept?' 
 
 " The landlady looked at me in anything but a 
 friendly manner. Her husband whispered some 
 thing to her after a time her brow cleared she 
 nodded to him, and the next moment I was given 
 to understand that my son's old room would be at 
 my disposal. I took possession of it that evening, 
 and my meals were served to me in the little par 
 lor where my boy and the unfortunate Horace 
 Frere had lived together. 
 
 B The next day I went out alone at an early hour 
 to visit the Plain. I had never ventured on Salis 
 bury Plain before. The day was a gloomy and 
 stormy one. There were constant showers of rain, 
 and I was almost wet through by the time I 
 reached my destination. I had just got upon the 
 borders of the Plain when I saw a young woman 
 walking a little ahead of me. There was some 
 thing in the gait which I seemed to recognize, al 
 though at first I had only a dim idea that I had 
 ever seen her before. Hurrying my footsteps I
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 107 
 
 came up to her, passed her, and as I did so looked 
 her full in the face. I started then and stopped 
 short. She was the girl who had seen the murder 
 committed, and who had given evidence of the most 
 damnatory kind against my son on the day of the 
 trial. In that one swift glance I saw that she was 
 much altered. . She had been a remarkably pretty 
 girl. She had now nearly lost all her comeliness 
 of appearance. Her face was thin, her dress negli 
 gent and untidy, on her brow there was a sullen 
 frown. When she saw me she also stood still, 
 her eyes dilated with a curious expression of fear. 
 
 " ' Who are you?' she said, with a pant. 
 
 11 ' I am Mrs. Everett,' I replied, slowly. ' I am 
 the mother of the man who once lodged in your 
 uncle's house, and who is now expiating the crime 
 of another at Portland prison. ' 
 
 " She had turned red at first, now she became 
 white. 
 
 " ' And your name, ' I continued, * is Hetty Armi- 
 tage. ' 
 
 " ' Why do you say that your son is expatiating 
 the crime of another?' she asked. 
 
 " ' Because I am his mother. I have looked into 
 his heart, and there is no murder there. But tell 
 me, is not your name Hetty Armitage?' 
 
 " ' It is not Armitage now, ' she answered. ' I am 
 married. I live about three miles from Grand- 
 court, over in that direction. I am going home 
 now. My husband's name is Vincent. He is a 
 farmer, '
 
 108 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "'You don't look too well off,' I said, for 1 
 noticed her shabby dress and run-to-seed appear 
 ance. 
 
 "'These are hard times for farmers,' she an 
 swered. 
 
 a ' Have you children?' I asked. 
 
 " ' No,' she replied fiercely, * I am glad to say I 
 bavenot.' 
 
 " ' "Why are you glad?' I asked. ' Surely a child 
 is the crown of a married woman's bliss.' 
 
 " ' It would not be to me, ' she cried. ' My heart 
 is full to the brim. I have no room for a child in 
 it.' 
 
 "'A full heart generally means happiness,' I 
 said. *Are you happy?' 
 
 * She gave me a queer glance. 
 
 "'No, ma'am,' she answered, 'my heart is full 
 of bitterness, of sorrow.' Her eyes looked quite 
 wild. She pressed one of her hands to her fore 
 head, then stepping out, she half turned round 
 to me. 
 
 "'I wish you good-morning, Mrs. Everett,' she 
 said. ' My way lies across here.' 
 
 "' Stay a moment before you leave me,' I said. 
 'I am coming to this plain on a mission which you 
 perhaps can guess. If you are poor you will not 
 despise half a sovereign. I'll give you half a 
 sovereign if you'll show me the exact spot where 
 the murder was committed. ' 
 
 " She turned from white to red, and from red to 
 white again.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 109 
 
 " ' I don't like tliat spot, ' she said. ' That night 
 was a terrible night to me ; my nerves ain't what 
 they were I sleep bad, and sometimes I dream. 
 Many and many a time I've seen that murder com 
 mitted over again. I have seen the look on the 
 face of the murdered man, and the look on the face 
 of the man who did it Oh, my God, I have 
 seen ' 
 
 She pressed her two hands hard against her eyes. 
 
 "I waited quietly until she had recovered her 
 emotion ; then I held out the little gold coin. 
 
 " ' You will take me to the spot?' I asked. 
 
 " She clutched the coin suddenly in her hand. 
 
 " ' This will buy what I live for, ' she cried, with 
 passion. ' I can drown thought with this. Come 
 along, ma'am, we are not very far from the place 
 here. I'll take you, and then go on home.' 
 
 "She started off, walking in front of me, and 
 keeping well ahead. She went quickly, and yet 
 with a sort of tremulous movement, as though she 
 were not quite certain of herself. We crossed the 
 Plain not far from the Court. I saw the house in 
 the distance, and the curling smoke which rose 
 up out of the trees. 
 
 " ' Don't walk so fast, ' I said. *I am an old wo 
 man, and you take my breath away. ' She slack 
 ened her steps, but very unwillingly. 
 
 " ' The family are not often at the Court?' I 
 queried. 
 
 "'No,' she answered with a start 'since the 
 old Squire died the place has been most shut up.'
 
 110 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 u ' I happen to know the present Squire and his 
 wife,' I said. 
 
 " She flushed when I said this, gave me a furtive 
 glance, and then pressing one hand to her left side, 
 said abruptly : 
 
 " ' If you know you can tell me summ'at he is 
 well, is he?' 
 
 " * They are both well, ' I answered, surprised at 
 the tone of her voice. 'I should judge them to be 
 a happy couple. ' 
 
 " ' I thank the good God that Mr. Robert is 
 happy,' she said, in a hoarse whisper. 
 
 " Once again she hurried her footsteps ; at last 
 she stood still on a rising knoll of ground. 
 
 "'Do you see this clump of alders?' she said. 
 * It was here I stood, just on this spot I was 
 sheltered by the alders, and even if the night had 
 not been so dark they would never have noticed 
 me. Over there to your right it was done. You 
 don't want me to stay any longer now, ma'am, 
 do you?' 
 
 " ' You can go when I have asked you one or 
 two questions. You stood here, you say just 
 here?' 
 
 " ' Just here, ma'am,' she answered. 
 
 " ' And the murder was committed there?' 
 
 "'Yes, where the grass seems to grow a bit 
 greener you notice it, don't you, just there, to 
 your right. ' 
 
 " ' I see, ' I replied with a shudder, which I could 
 not repress. ' Do you mind telling me how it was
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. Ill 
 
 that you happened to be out of your bed at such a 
 late hour at night?' 
 
 " She looked very sullen, and set her lips tightly. 
 I gazed full at her, waiting for her to speak. 
 
 " ' The man whose blood was shed was my lover 
 we had just had a quarrel, ' she said, at last. 
 
 " ' What about?' 
 
 " ' That's my secret,' she replied. 
 
 " ' How is it you did not mention the fact of the 
 quarrel at the trial?' I asked. 
 
 " She looked full up at me. 
 
 "'I was not asked,' she answered; 'that's my 
 secret, and I don't tell it to anybody. It was 
 here I stood, just where your feet are planted, and 
 I saw it done the moon came out for a minute, 
 and I saw everything even to the look on the dead 
 man's face and the look on the face of the man 
 who took his life. I saw it all. I ain't been the 
 same woman since.' 
 
 "'I am not surprised,' I replied. 'You may 
 leave me when I have said one thing. ' 
 
 " ' What is that, ma'am?' 
 
 " She raised her dark eyes. I saw fear in their 
 depths. 
 
 " ' You saw two men that night, Hetty Vincent, ' 
 I said 'one, the man who was murdered, was 
 Horace Frere, but the other man, as there is a God 
 above, was not Frank Everett. I am speaking the 
 truth you can go now. ' 
 
 " My words seemed forced from me, Dr. Rumsey, 
 but the effect was terrifying. The wretched crea/-
 
 112 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 ture fell on her knees she clung to my dress, 
 covering her face with a portion of the mantle 
 which I was wearing. 
 
 " ' Good God, why do you say that?' she gasped. 
 ' How do you know? Who has told you? Why 
 do you say awful words of that sort?' 
 
 " Her excitement made me calm. I stood per 
 fectly silent, but with my heart beating with the 
 queerest sense of exultation and victory. 
 
 " ' Get up, ' I said. She rose trembling to her 
 feet. I laid my hand on her shoulder. 
 
 " ' You have something to confess, ' I said. 
 
 " She looked at me again and burst out laughing. 
 * What a fool I made of myself just now!' she 
 said. ' I have nothing to confess ; what could I 
 have? You spoke so solemn and the place is 
 queer it always upsets me. I'll go now.' She 
 backed a few steps away. 
 
 " * I saw two men on the Plain, ' she said then, 
 raising her voice, 'one was Horace Frere the 
 other was your son, Frank Everett.' Before I 
 could add another word she took to her heels and 
 was quickly out of sight. 
 
 " I returned to the Tnn and questioned Armitage 
 and his wife. I did not dare fo tell them what 
 Hetty had said in her excitement, but I asked for 
 her address and drove out early the following 
 morning to Vincent's farm to visit her. I was 
 told on my arrival that she had left home that 
 morning ; that she often did so to visit a relation 
 at a distance, I asked for the address, which was
 
 DR. RUHSEY'S PATIENT. 113 
 
 given me somewhat unwillingly. That night I 
 went there, but Hetty had not arrived and nothing 
 was known about her. Since then I have tried in 
 vain to get any clue to her present whereabouts. 
 That is my story, Dr. Bumsey. What do you 
 think of it? Are the wild stories of an excited and 
 over-wrought woman worthy of careful considera 
 tion? Is her sudden flight suspicious, or- the re 
 verse? I anxiously await your verdict." 
 
 Dr. Bumsey remained silent for a moment. 
 
 "I am inclined to believe," he said, then very 
 slowly, "that the words uttered by this young 
 woman were merely the result of overstrung nerves ; 
 remember, she was in all probability in love with 
 the man who met his death in so tragic a manner. 
 From the remarkable change which you speak of 
 in her appearance, I should say that her nerves 
 had been considerably shattered by the sight she 
 witnessed, and also by the prominent place she was 
 obliged to take in the trial. She has probably 
 dreamt of this thing, and dwelt upon it year in 
 and year out, since it happened. Then, remember, 
 you spoke in a very startling manner and practi 
 cally accused her of having committed perjury at 
 the time of the trial. Under such circumstances 
 and in the surroundings she was in at the time, 
 she would be very likely to lose her head. As to 
 her sudden disappearance, I confess I cannot quite 
 understand it, unless her nervous system is even 
 more shattered than you incline me to believe ; but, 
 stay, from words she inadvertently let drop, she 
 
 a
 
 114 DR. RtTMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 Las evidently become addicted to drink, to opium 
 eating, or some such form of self-indulgence. If 
 that is the case she would be scarcely responsible 
 for her actions. I do not think, Mrs. Everett, 
 unless you can obtain further evidence, that there 
 is anything to go upon in this." 
 
 " That is 3 r our carefully considered opinion?" 
 "It is I am sorry if it disappoints you." 
 " It does not do that, for I cannot agree with you. " 
 Mrs. Everett rose as she spoke, fastened her 
 cloak, and tied her bonnet-strings. 
 
 "Your opinion is the cool one of an acute 
 reasoner, but also of a person who is outside the 
 circumstances," she continued. 
 Kumsey smiled. 
 
 " Surely in such a case mine ought to be the one 
 to be relied upon?" he queried. 
 
 "No, for there is such a thing as mother's in 
 stinct. I will not detain you longer, Dr. Kumsey. 
 You have said what I expected you would say."
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 KUMSEY began the severe routine of his daily 
 work. He was particularly busy that day, and 
 had many anxious cases to consider; it was also 
 one of his hospital mornings, and his hospital 
 cases were, he considered, some of the most impor 
 tant in his practice. Nevertheless Mrs. Everett's 
 face and her words of excitement kept flashing 
 again and again before his memory. 
 
 " There is a possibility of that woman losing her 
 senses if her mind is not diverted into another 
 channel, and soon too," he thought to himself. 
 " If she allows her thoughts to dwell much longer 
 on this fixed idea, she will see her son's murderer 
 in the face of each man and woman with whom she 
 comes in contact. Still there is something queer 
 in her story the young woman whom she ad 
 dressed on Salisbury Plain was evidently the victim 
 of nervous terror to a remarkable extent can it be 
 possible that she is concealing something?" 
 
 Bumsey thought for a moment over his last idea. 
 Then he dismissed it from his mind. 
 
 "No, "he said to himself, "a village girl could 
 not stand cross-examination without betraying her 
 self. I shall get as fanciful as Mrs. Everett if I 
 dwell any longer upon this problem. After all 
 115
 
 116 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 there is no problem to consider. Why not accept 
 the obvious fact? Poor Everett killed his friend 
 in a moment of strong irritation it was a very 
 plain case of manslaughter." 
 
 At the appointed hour Margaret Awdrey ap 
 peared on the scene. She was immediately ad 
 mitted into Dr. Rumsey's presence. He asked her 
 to seat herself, and took a chair facing her. It 
 was Margaret's way to be always very direct. She 
 was direct now, knowing that her auditor's time 
 was of extreme value. 
 
 " I have not troubled you about my husband for 
 some years," she began. 
 
 "You have not," he replied. 
 
 "Do you remember what I last told you about 
 him?" 
 
 "Perfectly. But excuse me one moment; to 
 satisfy you I will look up his case in my case 
 book. Do you remember the year when you last 
 spoke to me about him?" 
 
 Margaret instantly named the date, not only of 
 year, but of month. Dr. Rumsey quickly looked 
 up the case. He laid his finger on the open page 
 in which he had entered all particulars, ran his 
 eyes rapidly over the notes he had made at the 
 time, and then turned to Mrs. Awdrey. 
 
 'I find, as I expected, that I have forgotten 
 nothing," he said. "I was right in my conjec 
 tures, was I not? Tour husband's symptoms were 
 due to nervous distress?" 
 
 "I wish I could say so," replied Margaret
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 117 
 
 Dr. Rumsey slightly raised his brows. 
 
 "Are there fresh symptoms?" he asked. 
 
 " He is not well. I must tell you exactly how 
 he is affected." 
 
 The doctor bent forward to listen. Margaret 
 began her story. 
 
 " Since the date of our marriage there has been 
 a very gradual, but also a marked deterioration in 
 my husband's character," she said. "But until 
 lately he has been in possession of excellent 
 physical health, his appetite has been good, he has 
 been inclined for exercise, and has slept well. In 
 short, his bodily health has been without a flaw. 
 Accompanying this state of physical well-being 
 there has been a very remarkable mental torpor." 
 
 "Are you not fanciful on that point?" asked Dr. 
 Rumsey. 
 
 tt I am not. Please remember that I have known 
 him since he was a boy. As a boy he was particu 
 larly ambitious, full of all sorts of schemes for the 
 future many of these schemes were really daring 
 and original. He did well at school, and better 
 than well at Balliol. When we became engaged 
 his strong sense of ambition was quite one of the 
 most remarkable traits of his character. He always 
 spoke of doing much with his life. The idea was 
 that as soon as possible he was to enter the House, 
 and he earnestly hoped that when that happy event 
 took place he would make his mark there. One 
 by one all these thoughts, all these hopes and 
 aims, have dropped away from his mind; each
 
 118 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 year has robbed him of something, until at last he 
 has come to that pass when even books fail to 
 arouse any interest in him. He sits for many 
 hours absolutely doing nothing, not even sleeping, 
 but gazing straight before him into vacancy. Our 
 little son is almost the only person who has any 
 power to rouse him. He is devoted to the child, 
 but his love even for little Arthur is tempered by 
 that remarkable torpor he never plays with the 
 boy, who is a particularly strong-willed, spirited 
 child, but likes to sit with him on his knee, the 
 child's arms clasped round his neck. He has 
 trained the little fellow to sit perfectly still. The 
 child is devoted to his father, and would do any 
 thing for him. As the years have gone on, my 
 husband has become more and more a man of fsw 
 words I now believe him to be a man of few 
 thoughts of late he has been subject to moods of 
 deep depression, and although he is my husband, 
 I often feel, truly as I love him, that he is more 
 like a log than a man." 
 
 Tears dimmed Margaret's eyes; she hastily 
 wiped them away. 
 
 "I would not trouble you about all this," she 
 continued, " but for a change which has taken place 
 within the last few months. That change directly 
 affects my husband's physical health, and as such 
 is the case I feel it right to consult you about it. " 
 
 " Yes, speak take your own time I am much 
 interested," said the doctor. 
 
 " The change in my husband's health of body
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 119 
 
 fias also begun gradually," continued Mrs. Awdrey. 
 " You know, of course, that he is now the owner of 
 Grandcourt. He has taken a great dislike to the 
 place in my opinion, an unaccountable dislike. 
 He absolutely refuses to live there. Now I am 
 fond of Grandcourt, and our little boy always seems 
 in better health and spirit tiiuG lh-.n anywhere 
 else. I take my child<lown to the old family place 
 whenever I can spare a week from my husband. 
 Last autumn I persuaded Mr. Awdrey with great 
 difficulty to accompany me to Grandcourt for a 
 week. I have never ceased to regret that visit." 
 
 "Indeed, what occurred?" asked the doctor. 
 
 " Apparently nothing, and yet evidently a great 
 deal. When we got into the country Robert's 
 apathy seemed to change ; he roused himself and 
 became talkative and even excitable. He took long 
 walks, and was particularly fond of visiting Salis 
 bury Plain, that part which lies to the left of the 
 Court. He invariably took these rambles alone, 
 and often went out quite late in the evening, not 
 returning until midnight. 
 
 " On the last of these occasions I asked him why 
 he was so fond of walking by himself. He said 
 with a forced laugh, and a very queer look in his 
 eyes, that he was engaged trying to find a favorite 
 walking-stick which he had lost years ago. He 
 laid such stress upon what appeared such a trivial 
 subject that I could scarcely refrain from smiling. 
 When I did so he swore a terrific oath, and said, 
 with blazing eyes, that life or death depended upon
 
 120 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 the matter which I thought so trivial. Immedi 
 ately after his brief blaze of passion he became 
 moody, dull, and more inert than ever. The next 
 day we left the Court. It was immediately after 
 that visit that his physical health began to give 
 way. He lost his appetite, and for the last few 
 months he has been the victim of a very peculiar 
 form of sleeplessness." 
 
 " Ah, insomnia would be bad in a case like his." 
 said Dr. Rumsey. 
 
 " It has had a very irritating effect upon him. 
 His sleeplessness, like all other symptoms, came 
 on gradually. At the same time he became in 
 tensely sensitive to the slightest noise. Against my 
 will he tried taking small doses of chloral, but they 
 had the reverse of a beneficial effect upon him. 
 During the last month he has, toward morning, 
 dropped off into uneasy slumber, from which he 
 awakens bathed in perspiration and in a most 
 curious state of terror. Night after night the same 
 sort of thing occurs. He seizes my hand and asks 
 me in a voice choking with emotion if I see any 
 thing in the room. 'Nothing,' I answer. 
 
 " 'Am I awake or asleep?' he -asks next. 
 
 * ' "Wide awake,' I say to him. 
 
 " ' Then it is as I fear,' he replies. 'I see it, I 
 see it distinctly. Can't you? Look, you must see 
 it too. It is just over there, in the direction of the 
 window. Don't you see that sphere of perfect light ? 
 Don't you see the picture in the middle?' He shiv 
 ers j the drops of perspiration fall from his forehead.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 121 
 
 "'Margaret,' he says, 'for God's sake look, 
 fell me that you see it too.' 
 
 " ' I see nothing, ' I answer him. 
 ^ " ' Then the vision is for me alone. It haunts 
 me. What have I done to deserve it? Margaret, 
 there is a circle of light over there in the centre 
 a picture it is the picture of a murder. Two men 
 are in it yes, I know now I am looking at the 
 Plain near the Court the moon is hidden behind 
 the clouds there are two men they fight. God 
 in heaven, one man falls the other bends over 
 him. I see the face of the fallen man, but I can 
 not see the face of the other. I should rest con 
 tent if I could only see his face. Who is he, 
 Margaret, who is he?' 
 
 " He falls back on his pillow half-fainting. 
 
 " This sort of thing goes on night after night, 
 Dr. Eumsey. Toward morning the vision which 
 tortures my unhappy husband begins to fade, he 
 sinks into heavy slumber, and awakens late in the 
 morning with no memory whatever of the horrible 
 thing which has haunted him during the hours of 
 darkness. 
 
 " The days which follow are more full than ever 
 of that terrible inertia, and now he begins to look 
 what he really is, a man stricken with an awful 
 doom. 
 
 "The symptoms you speak of are certainly 
 alarming," said Dr. Bumsey, after a pause. 
 "They point to a highly unsatisfactory state of 
 the nerve centres. These symptoms, joined to
 
 122 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 what you have already told me of the peculiar 
 malady which Awdrey inherits, make his case a 
 grave one. Of course, I by no means give up 
 hope, but the recurrence of this vision nightly is a 
 singular symptom. Does Awdrey invariably speak 
 of not being able to see the face of the man who 
 committed the murder?" 
 
 " Yes, he always makes a remark to that effect. 
 He seems every night to see the murdered man 
 lying on the ground with his face upward, but the 
 man who commits the murder has his back to 
 him. Last night he shrieked out in absolute terror 
 on the subject: 
 
 " ' Who is the man? That man on the ground is 
 Horace Frere he has been hewn down in the first 
 strength of his youth he is a dead man. There 
 stands the murderer, with his back to me, but who 
 is he? Oh, my God!' he cried out with great 
 passion, 'who is the one who has done this deed? 
 Who has murdered Horace Frere? I would give 
 all I possess, all that this wide world contains, 
 only to catch one glimpse of his face. ' 
 
 " He sprang out of bed as he spoke, and went a 
 step or two in the direction where he saw the 
 peculiar vision, clasping his hands, and staring 
 straight before him like a person distraught, and 
 almost out of his mind. I followed him and tried 
 ^> take his hand. 
 
 " ' Eobert !' I said, ' you know, don't you, quite 
 well, who murdered Horace Frere? Poor fellow, 
 it was not murder in the ordinary sense. Frank
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 123 
 
 Everett is the name of the man whose face you 
 cannot see. But it is an old story now, and you 
 have nothing to do with it, nothing whatever 
 don't let it dwell any longer on your mind.' 
 
 " ' Ha, but he carries my stick,' he shrieked out, 
 and then he fell back in a state of unconsciousness 
 against the bed." 
 
 u And do you mean to tell me that he remembered 
 nothing of this agony in the morning?" queried 
 Dr. Kumsey. 
 
 * Nothing whatever. At breakfast he complained 
 of a slight headache and was particularly dull and 
 moody. When I came off to you he h ad just started 
 for a walk in the Park with our little boy." 
 
 " I should like to see your husband, and to talk 
 to him," said Dr. Rumsey, rising abruptly. "Can 
 you manage to bring him here?" 
 
 " I fear I cannot, for he does not consider him 
 self ill." 
 
 " Shall you be at home this evening?" 
 
 "Yes, we are not going out to-night." 
 
 " Then I'll drop in between eight and nine on a 
 friendly visit. You must not be alarmed if I try 
 to lead up to the subject of these nightly visions, 
 for I would infinitely rather your husband remem 
 bered them than that they should quite slip from 
 his memory." 
 
 "Thank you," answered Margaret. "I will 
 leave you alone with him when you call to-night." 
 
 "It may be best for me to see him without any 
 one else being present."
 
 124 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 Margaret Awdrey soon afterward took her leave. 
 
 That night, true to his appointment, Dr. Hum- 
 Bey made his appearance at the Awdrey s' house in 
 Seymour Street. He was shown at once into the 
 drawing-room, where Awdrey was lying back in a 
 deep chair on one side of the hearth, and Mar 
 garet was softly playing a sonata of Beethoven's 
 in the distance. She played with great feeling and 
 power, and did not use any notes. The part of 
 the room where she sat was almost in shadow, 
 but the part round the fire where Awdrey had 
 placed himself was full of bright light. 
 
 Margaret's dark eyes looked full of painful 
 thought when the great doctor was ushered into 
 the room. She did not see him at first, then she 
 noticed him and faltered in her playing. She took 
 her fingers from the piano, and rose to meet him. 
 
 " Pray go on, Margaret. What are you stopping 
 for?" cried her husband. "Nothing soothes me 
 like your music. Go on, go on. I see the moon 
 light on the trees, I feel the infinite peace, the 
 waves are beating on the shore, there is rest. " He 
 broke off abruptly, starting to his feet. " I beg 
 your pardon, Dr. Eumsey, I assure you I did not 
 Bee you until this moment." 
 
 "I happened to have half-an-hour at my dis 
 posal, and thought I would drop in for a chat," 
 said Dr. Kumsey in his pleasant voice. 
 
 Awdrey's somewhat fretful brow relaxed. 
 
 "You are heartily welcome," he said. "Have 
 you dined? Will you take anything?"
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 125 
 
 "I have dined, and I only want one thing," said 
 Dr. Bumsey. 
 
 "Pray name it; I'll ring for it immediately." 
 
 "You need not do that, for the person to give it 
 to me is already in the room." 
 
 The doctor bowed to Margaret as he spoke. 
 
 "I love the 'Moonlight Sonata' beyond all other 
 music," he said. "Will you continue playing it, 
 Mrs. Awdrey? Will you rest a tired physician as 
 well as your husband with your music?" 
 
 "With all the pleasure in the world," she re 
 plied. She returned at once to her shady corner, 
 and the soothing effects of the sonata once more 
 filled the room. For a short time Awdrey sat up 
 right, forced into attention of others by the fact of 
 Dr. Bumsey' s presence, but he soon relaxed the 
 slight effort after self-control, and lay back in his 
 chair once again with his eyes half shut. 
 
 Bumsey listened to the music and watched his 
 strange patient at the same time. 
 
 Margaret suddenly stopped, almost as abruptly 
 as if she had had a signal. She walked up the 
 room, and stood in the bright circle of light. She 
 looked very lovely, and almost spiritual her face 
 was pale her eyes luminous as if lit from within 
 her pathetic and perfect lips were slightly apart. 
 Bumsey thought her something like an angel who 
 was about to utter a benediction. 
 
 "I am going up now to see little Arthur," she 
 said. She glanced at her husband, and left the 
 room.
 
 138 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 Bumsey had not failed to observe that Awdrey 
 did not even glance at his wife when she stood on 
 the hearth. There was a full moment's pause after 
 she left the room. Awdrey ' s eyes were half closed, 
 they were turned in the direction of the bright 
 blaze. Bumsey looked full at him. 
 
 "Strange case, strange man," he muttered under 
 his breath. " There is something for me to un 
 ravel here. The man who is insensate enough not 
 to see the beauty in that woman's face, not to revel 
 in the love she bestows on him he is a log, not a 
 man and yet " 
 
 "Are you well?" cried the doctor abruptly. He 
 spoke on purpose with great distinctness, and his 
 words had something the effect of a pistol-shot. 
 
 Awdrey sat bolt upright and stared full at him. 
 
 " Why do you ask me that question?" he replied, 
 irritation in his tone. 
 
 a Because I wish to question you with regard to 
 your health," said Dr. Bumsey. "Whether you 
 feel it or not, you are by no means well." 
 
 " Indeed 1 What do I look like?" 
 
 "Like a man who sees more than he ought," re 
 plied the doctor with deliberation. "But before 
 we come to that may I ask you a question?" 
 
 Awdrey looked disturbed he got up and stood 
 with his back to the fire. 
 
 "Ask what you please," he said, rubbing up his 
 hair as he spoke. " As there is a heaven above, 
 Dr. Bumsey, you see a wretched man before you 
 to-night."
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 127 
 
 "My dear fellow, what strong words! Surely, 
 you of all people " 
 
 Awdrey interrupted with a hollow laugh. 
 
 "Ah," he said, "it looks like it, does it not? In 
 any circle, among any concourse of people, I 
 should be pointed out as the fortunate man. I 
 have money I have a very good and beautiful wife 
 I am the father of as fine a boy as the heart of 
 man could desire. I belong to one of the old and 
 established families of our country, and I also, I 
 suppose, may claim the inestimable privilege to 
 youth, for I am only twenty-six years of age 
 
 nevertheless " He shuddered, looked down 
 
 the long room, and then closed his eyes. 
 
 "I am glad I came here," said Dr. Bumsey. 
 " Believe me, my dear sir, the symptoms you have 
 just described are by no means uncommon in the 
 cases of singularly fortunate individuals like your 
 self. The fact is, you have got too much. You 
 want to empty yourself of some of your abundance 
 in order that contentment and health of mind may 
 flow in." 
 
 Awdrey stared at the doctor with lack-lustre 
 eyes. Then he shook his head. 
 
 "I am past all that," he said. "I might at the 
 first have managed to make a superhuman effort ; 
 but now I have no energy for anything. I have 
 not even energy sufficient to take away my own 
 life, which is the only thing on all God's earth that 
 I crave to do." 
 
 "Come, come, Awdrey, you must not allow
 
 138 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 yourself to speak like that. Now sit down. Tell 
 me, if you possibly can, exactly what you feel." 
 
 u Why should I tell you? I am not your patient. " 
 
 "But I want you to be." 
 
 "Is that why you came here this evening?" 
 
 Dr. Rumsey paused before he replied; he had 
 not expected this question. 
 
 "I will answer you frankly," he said, with a 
 pause. "Tour wife came to see me about you. 
 She did not wish me to mention the fact of her 
 visit, but I believe I am wise in keeping nothing 
 back from you. Tou love your wife, don't you?" 
 
 " I suppose I do ; that is, if I love anybody. " 
 
 " Of course, you love her. Don't sentimentalize 
 over a fact. She came to see me because her love 
 for you is over-abundant. It makes her anxious ; 
 you have given her, Awdrey, a great deal of anxiety 
 lately. 
 
 "I cannot imagine how. I have done nothing." 
 
 " That is just it. You have done too little. She 
 is naturally terribly anxious. She told me one or 
 two things about your state which I do not consider 
 quite satisfactory. I said it would be necessary for 
 me to have an interview with you, and asked her 
 to beg of you to call at my house. She said you 
 did not consider yourself ill, and might not be 
 willing to come to me. I then resolved to come to 
 you, and here I am." 
 
 " It is good of you, Rumsey, but you can do 
 nothing; I am not really ill. It is simply that 
 omething I have not the faintest idea what has
 
 DE. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 killed my soul. I believe, before heaven, that I 
 have stated the case in a nutshell. You may be, 
 and doubtless are, a great doctor, but you have 
 not come across living men with dead souls before." 
 
 "I have not Awdrey; nor is your soul dead. 
 You state an impossibility." 
 
 Awdrey started excitedly. His face, which had 
 been deadly pale, now blazed with animation and 
 color. 
 
 "Learned as you are," he cried, "you will gain 
 some fresh and valuable experience from me to- 
 nighfe. I am the strangest patient you ever at 
 tempted to cure. You have roused me, and it is 
 good to be roused. Perhaps my soul is not dead 
 after all perhaps it is struggling with a demoa 
 which crushes it down." 

 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 DR. EUMSET did not reply to this for a moment 
 then he spoke quietly. 
 
 "Tell me everything," he said. "Nothing you 
 can say will startle me, but if there is any possi 
 bility of my helping you I must know the case as 
 far as you can give it me." 
 
 a l have but little to say," replied Awdrey. "I 
 am paralyzed day after day simply by want of 
 leeiing. Even a sense of pain, of irritation, is a 
 relief the deadness of my life is so overpowering. 
 Do you know the history of my house?" 
 
 "Your wife has told me. It is a queer story." 
 
 "It is a damnable story," said Awdrey. " With 
 such a fate hanging over me, why was I born? 
 Why did my father marry? Why did my mother 
 bring a man-child into the world? Men with 
 dooms like mine ought never to have descendants. 
 I curse the thought that I have a child myself. It 
 is all cruel, monstrous." 
 
 "But the thing you fear has not fallen upon 
 you," said Dr. Rumsey. 
 
 " Has it not? I believe it has." 
 
 " How can you possibly imagine what is not the 
 case?" 
 
 "Dr. Ramsey," said Awdrey, advancing a step 
 180
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 131 
 
 or two to meet him, "I don't imagine what I 
 know. Look at me. I am six-and-twenty. Do 
 I look that age?" 
 
 " I must confess that yon look older than your 
 years." 
 
 "Aye, I should think so. See my hair already 
 mingled with gray. Feel this nerveless hand. Is 
 this the hand of the English youth of six-and- 
 twenty? Look at my eyes how dull they are; are 
 they the eyes of a man in his prime? No, no, I 
 am going down to the grave as the other men of 
 my house have gone, simply because I cannot help 
 it. Like those who have gone before me I slip, 
 and slip, and slip, and cannot get a grip of life any 
 where, and so I go out, or go over the precipice 
 into God knows what anyhow I go." 
 
 " Poor fellow, he is far worse than I had any 
 idea of, " thought the doctor. He took his patient's 
 hand, and led him to a seat. 
 
 u You are quite ill enough to see a doctor, " he 
 said, " and ought to have had advice long ago. I 
 mean to take you up, Awdrey. From this moment 
 you must consider yourself my patient." 
 
 "If you can do anything for me I shall be 
 glad that is, no, I shall not be glad, for I am 
 incapable of the sensation, but I am aware it is 
 the right thing to put myself into your hands. 
 What do you advise?" 
 
 " 1 cannot tell you until I know more. My pres 
 ent impression is that you are simply the victim of 
 nerve terrors. You have dwelt upon the doom of
 
 132 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 your house for so long a time that you are now fully 
 convinced that you are one of the victims. But 
 you must please remember that the special feature 
 of the tragedy, for tragedy it is, has not occurred in 
 your case, for you have never forgotten anything 
 of consequence." 
 
 " Only one thing it sounds stupid even to speak 
 of it, but it worries me inconceivably. There was 
 a murder committed on Salisbury Plain the night 
 before I got engaged to Margaret. On that night 
 I lost a walking-stick which I was particularly 
 fond of." 
 
 "Your wife mentioned to me that you were 
 troubled on that point," broke in Dr. Kumsey. 
 " Pray dismiss it at once and forever from your 
 mind. The fact of your having forgotten such a 
 trifle is not of the slightest consequence." 
 
 "Do you think so? The fret about it has fast 
 ened itself very deeply into my mind." 
 
 " Well, don't think of it again the next time it 
 occurs to torment you, just remember that I, who 
 have made brain .troubles like yours my special 
 study, think nothing at all about it." 
 
 " Thank you, I'll try to remember." 
 
 " Do so. Now, I wish to talk to you about an 
 other matter. You sleep badly." 
 
 "Do I?" Awdrey raised his brows. * I cannot 
 recall that fact." 
 
 "Nevertheless you do. Your wife speaks of it. 
 Now in your state of health it is most essential 
 that you should have good nights."
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 133 
 
 "I always feel an added sense of depression 
 when I am going to bed, " said Awdrey, " but I am 
 unconscious that I have bad nights what can 
 Margaret mean?" 
 
 "I trust that your wife's natural nervousness 
 with regard to you makes her inclined to exag 
 gerate your symptoms, but I may as well say 
 frankly that some of the things she has mentioned, 
 as occurring night after night, have given me un 
 easiness. Now I should like to be with you during 
 one of your bad nights." 
 
 " What do you mean?" 
 
 " Come home with me to-night, my good fellow," 
 said the doctor, laying his hand on Awdrey 's 
 shoulder "we will pass this night together. 
 What do you say?" 
 
 " Your request surprises me very much, but it 
 would be a relief I will go," said Awdrey. 
 
 He turned and rang the bell as he spoke a ser 
 vant appeared, who was sent with a message to 
 Mrs. Awdrey. She came to the drawing-room in 
 a few minutes. Her face of animation, wakeful- 
 ness of soul and feeling, made a strong contrast to 
 Awdrey's haggard, lifeless expression. 
 
 He went up to his wife and put his hand on her 
 shoulder. 
 
 "You have been telling tales of me, Maggie,*' he 
 said. " You complain of something I know noth 
 ing about my bad nights." 
 
 "They are very bad, Bobert, very terrible," she 
 replied.
 
 134 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "I cannot recall a single thing about them." 
 
 "I wish you could remember," she said. 
 
 "I have made a suggestion to your husband," 
 interrupted Dr. Bumsey, " which I am happy to 
 say he approves of. He returns with me to my 
 house to-night. I will promise to look after him. 
 If he does happen to have a bad night I shall be 
 witness to it. Now pray go to bed yourself and 
 enjoy the rest you sorely need." 
 
 Margaret tried to smile in reply, but her eyes 
 filled with tears. Bumsey saw them, but Awdrey 
 took no notice he was staring straight into va 
 cancy, after his habitual fashion. 
 
 A moment later he and Kumsey left the house 
 together. Ten minutes afterward Kumsey opened 
 his own door with a latch-key. 
 
 " It is late," he said to his guest. He glanced at 
 the clock as he spoke. "At this hour I always 
 indulge in supper it is waiting for me now. Will 
 yon come and have a glass of port with me?" 
 
 Awdrey murmured something in reply the two 
 men went into the dining-room, where Bumsey, 
 without apparently making any fuss, saw that his 
 guest ate and drank heartily. During the meal 
 thi doctor talked, and Awdrey replied in mono 
 syllables sometimes, indeed, not replying at all 
 Dr. Bumsey took no notice of this. When the 
 meal, which really only took a few minutes, was 
 orer, he rose. 
 
 "I am going to take you to your bedroom now," 
 iesaid.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 135 
 
 "Thanks," answered Awdrey. "The whole 
 thing seems extraordinary," he added. "I cannot 
 make out why I am to sleep in your house. " 
 
 " You sleep here as my patient. I am going to 
 sit up with you." 
 
 " You ! I cannot allow it, doctor F 
 
 "Not a word, my dear sir. Pray don't over 
 whelm me with thanks. Your case is one of great 
 interest to me. I shall certainly not regret the 
 few hours I steal from sleep to watch it." 
 
 Awdrey made a dull reply. The two men went 
 up-stairs. Kumsey had already given orders, and 
 a bedroom had been prepared. A bright fire 
 burned in the grate, and electric light made the 
 room cheerful as day. The bed was placed in an 
 alcove by itself. In front of the fire was drawn up 
 a deep, easy chair, a small table, a reading-lamp 
 ready to be lighted, and several books. 
 
 "For me?" said Awdrey, glancing at these. 
 " Excuse me, Dr. Kumsey, but I do not appreciate 
 books. Of late months I have had a difficulty in 
 centring my thoughts on what I read. Even the 
 most exciting story fails to arouse my attention." 
 
 "These books are for me," said the doctor. 
 "You are to go straight to bed. You will find 
 everything you require for the night in that part 
 of the room. Pray undress as quickly as possible 
 I shall return at the end of a quarter of an hour." 
 
 "Will you give me a sleeping draught? I 
 generally take chloral." 
 
 a My dear sir, I will give you nothing. It is my
 
 13 DR. RITMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 impression you will have a good night without 
 having recourse to sedatives. Get into bed now 
 you look sleepy already." 
 
 The doctpr left the room. When he came back 
 at the end of the allotted time, Awdrey was in bed 
 he was lying on his back, with his eyes already 
 closed. His face looked very cadaverous and 
 ghastly pale; but for the gentle breathing which 
 came from his partly opened lips he might almost 
 have been a dead man. 
 
 "Six-and-twenty," muttered the doctor, as he 
 glanced at him, " six-and-f orty, six-and-fifty, 
 rather. This is a very queer case. There is 
 something at the root of it. I can no longer make 
 light of Mrs. Awdrey's fears something is killing 
 that man inch by inch. He has described his own 
 condition very accurately. He is slipping out of 
 life because he has not got grip enough to hold it. 
 Nevertheless, at the present moment, no child 
 could sleep more tranquilly." 
 
 The doctor turned off the electric light, and re 
 turned to his own bright part of the room. The 
 bed in which Awdrey lay was now in complete 
 shadow. Dr. Eumsey opened a medical treatise, 
 but he did not read. On the .contrary, the book 
 lay unnoticed on his knee, while he himself stared 
 into the blaze of the fire his brows were contracted 
 in anxious thought. He was thinking of the sleeper 
 and his story of the tragedy which all this meant 
 to Margaret. Then, by a queer chain of connec 
 tion, his memory reverted to Mrs. Everett her
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 137 
 
 passionate life quest her determination to consider 
 her son innocent. The queer scene she had de 
 scribed as taking place between Hetty and herself 
 returned vividly once more to the doctor's reten 
 tive memory. 
 
 " Is it possible that Awdrey can in any way be 
 connected with that tragedy?" he thought. "It 
 looks almost like it. According to his own show 
 ing, and according to his wife's showing, the 
 strange symptoms which have brought him to his 
 present pass began about the date of that some 
 what mysterious murder. I have thought it best 
 to make light of that lapse of memory which worries 
 the poor fellow so much in connection with his 
 walking-stick, but is there not something in it after 
 all? Can he possibly have witnessed the murder? 
 Would it be possible for him to throw any light 
 upon it and save Everett? If I really thought so? 
 But no, the hypothesis is too wild." 
 
 Dr. Rumsey turned again to his book. He was 
 preparing a lecture of some importance. As he 
 read he made many notes. The sleeper in the dis 
 tant part of the room slept on calmly the night 
 gradually wore itself away the fire smouldered in 
 the grate. 
 
 " If this night passes without any peculiar mani 
 festation on Awdrey 's part, I shall begin to feel 
 assured that the wife has overstated the case," 
 thought the doctor. He bent forward as this 
 thought came to him to replenish the fire. In the 
 act of doing so he made a slight noise. Whether
 
 138 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 this noise disturbed the sleeper or not no one can 
 say Awdrey abruptly turned in bed, opened his 
 eyes, uttered a heavy groan, and then sat up. 
 
 "There it is again," he cried. "Margaret, are 
 you there? Margaret, come here." 
 
 Dr. Eumsey immediately approached the bed. 
 
 "Tour wife is not in the room, Awdrey," he 
 said "you remember, don't you, that you are 
 passing the night with me." 
 
 Awdrey rubbed his eyes he took no notice of 
 Dr. Kumsey's words. He stared straight before 
 him in the direction of one of the windows. 
 
 "There it is," he said, "the usual thing the 
 globe of light and the picture in the middle. There 
 lies the murdered man on his back. Yes, that is 
 the bit of the Plain that I know so well the moon 
 drifts behind the clouds now it shines out, and I 
 see the face of the murdered man but the mur 
 derer, who is he? Why will he keep his back to 
 me ? ! Good God ! why can't I see his face ? Look, 
 can't you see for yourself? Margaret, can't you 
 see? do you notice the stick in his hand? it is 
 my stick and the scoundrel, he wears my 
 clothes. Yes, those clothes are mine. My God, 
 what does this mean?"
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 u COME, Awdrey, wake up, you don't know what 
 you are talking about," said the doctor. He 
 grasped his patient firmly by one arm, and shook 
 him slightly. The dazed and stricken man gazed 
 at the doctor in astonishment. 
 
 "Where am I, and what is the matter?" he 
 asked. 
 
 u You are spending the night in my house, and 
 have just had a bad dream," said Dr. Rumsey. 
 " Don't go back to bed just yet. Come and sit by 
 the fire for a few minutes." 
 
 As the doctor spoke, he put a warm padded 
 dressing-gown of his own over his shivering and 
 cowed-looking patient. 
 
 Awdrey wrapped himself in it, and approached 
 the fire. Dr. Rumsey drew a chair forward. He 
 noticed the shaking hands, thin almost to emacia 
 tion, the sunken cheeks, the glazed expression of 
 the eyes, the look of age and mental irritation 
 which characterized the face. 
 
 "Poor fellow? no wonder that he should be 
 simply slipping out of life if this kind of thing 
 continues night after night," thought the doctor. 
 "What is to be done with him? His is one of the
 
 HO DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 cases which baffle Science. Well, at least, he 
 wants heaps of nourishment to enable him to bear 
 up. I'll go downstairs and prepare a meal for him. " 
 
 He spoke aloud. 
 
 "You shiver, Awdrey, are you cold?" 
 
 "Not very," replied Awdrey, trying to smile, 
 although his lips chattered. He looked into 
 the fire, and held out one hand to the grateful 
 blaze. 
 
 "You'll feel much better after you have taken a 
 prescription which I mean to make up for you. 
 I'll go and prepare it now. Do you mind being 
 left alone?" 
 
 " Certainly not. Why should I?" 
 
 "He has already forgotten his terrors," thought 
 Dr. Rumsey. " Queer case, incomprehensible. I 
 never met one like it before. In these days, it is 
 true, one comes across all forms of psychological 
 distress. Nothing now ought to be new or start 
 ling to medical science, but this certainly is mar 
 vellous." 
 
 The doctor speedily returned with a plate of cold 
 meat, some bread and butter, and a bottle of cham 
 pagne. 
 
 " As we are both spending the night other than 
 it should be spent," he said, "we must have nour 
 ishment. I am going to eat, will you join me?" 
 
 "I feel hungry," answered Awdrey. "I should 
 be glad of something." 
 
 The doctor fed him as though he were an infant. 
 He drank off two glasses of champagne, and then
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENf. 141 
 
 the color returned to his cheeks, and some ani 
 mation to his sunken eyes. 
 
 "You look better, "said the doctor. "Now, you 
 will get back to bed, won't you? After that cham 
 pagne a good sleep will put some mettle into you. 
 It is not yet four o'clock. You have several hours 
 to devote to slumber." 
 
 The moment Bumsey began to speak, Awdrey's 
 eyes dilated. 
 
 "I remember something," he said. 
 
 " I dare say you do many things what are you 
 specially alluding to?" 
 
 " I saw something a short time ago in this room. 
 The memory of it comes dimly back to me. I 
 struggle to grasp it fully. Is your house said to 
 be haunted, Dr. Bumsey? " 
 
 Dr. Bumsey laughed. 
 
 "Not that I am aware of," he replied. 
 
 "Well, haunted or not, I saw something." 
 Awdrey rose slowly as he spoke he pointed in the 
 direction of the farthest window. 
 
 " I was sleeping soundly but suddenly found my 
 self broad awake," he began "I saw over there" 
 he pointed with his hand to the farthest window, 
 " what looked like a perfect sphere or globe of light 
 in the centre of this light was a picture. I see 
 the whole thing now in imagination, but the pic 
 ture is dim it worries me, I want to see it better. 
 No, I will not get back to bed." 
 
 " You had a bad dream and are beginning to re 
 member it," said Bumsey.
 
 143 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 " It was not a dream at all. I was wide awake. 
 Stay don't question me my memory becomes 
 more vivid instant by instant. I was wide awake 
 as I said I got up I approached the thing. It 
 never swerved from the one position it was there 
 by the window a sphere of light and the picture 
 in the middle. There were two men in the picture. " 
 
 "A nightmare, a nightmare," said the doctor. 
 * What did you eat for dinner last night?" 
 
 " It was not an ordinary nightmare my memory 
 is now quite vivid. I recall the whole vision. I 
 saw a picture of something that happened. Tears 
 ago, Dr. Rumsey over five years ago now there 
 was a murder committed on the Plain near my 
 place. Two men, undergraduates of Oxford, were 
 staying at our village inn they fought about a girl 
 with whom they were both in love. One man killed 
 the other. The murder was committed in a mo 
 ment of strong provocation and the murderer only 
 got penal servitude. He is serving his time now. 
 It seems strange, does it not, that I should have 
 seen a complete picture of the murder ! The whole 
 thing was very vivid and distinct it has, in short, 
 burnt itself into my brain." 
 
 Awdrey raised his hand as he_ spoke and pressed 
 it to his forehead. " My pulse is bounding just 
 here," he said he touched his temple. "I have 
 only to shut my eyes to see in imagination what I 
 saw in reality half an hour ago. Why should I be 
 worried with a picture of a murder committed five 
 years ago?"
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 143 
 
 * It probably made a deep impression on you at 
 the time," said Dr. Rumsey. "You are now weak 
 and your nerves much out of order your brain 
 has simply reverted back to it. If I were you I 
 would only think of it as an ordinary nightmare. 
 Pray let me persuade you to go back to bed." 
 
 " I could not I am stricken by the most inde 
 scribable terror." 
 
 " Nonsense ! You a man !'* 
 
 " You may heap what opprobrium you like on 
 me, but I cannot deny the fact. I am full of 
 cowardly terror. I cannot account for my sensa 
 tions. The essence of my torture lies in the fact 
 that I am unable to see the face of the man who 
 committed the murder." 
 
 a Oh, come, why should you see his face you 
 know who he was?" 
 
 " That's just it, doctor. I wish to God I did 
 know." Awdrey approached close to Dr. Rumsey, 
 and stared into his eyes. His own eyes were queer 
 and glittering. He seemed instinctively to feel that 
 he had said too much, for he drew back a step, 
 putting his hand again to his forehead and staring 
 fixedly out into vacancy. 
 
 "You believe that I am talking nonsense," he 
 said, after a pause. 
 
 " I believe that you are a sad victim to your own 
 nervous fears. You need not go to bed unless you 
 like. Dress yourself and sit here by the fire. You 
 will very likely fall asleep in this arm-chair. I 
 shall remain close to you."
 
 144 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 " You are really good to me, and I would thank 
 you if I were capable of gratitude. Yes, I'll get 
 into my clothes." 
 
 Rumsey turned on the electric light, and Awdrey 
 with trembling fingers dressed himself. When 
 he came back to his easy-chair by the warm fire 
 he said suddenly : 
 
 " Give me a sheet of paper and a pencil, will you?" 
 
 The doctor handed him a blank sheet from his 
 own note-paper, and furnished him with a pencil. 
 
 "Now I will sketch what I saw for you," he said. 
 
 He drew with bold touches a broad sphere of 
 light. In the centre was a picture, minute but 
 faithful. 
 
 At one time Awdrey had been fond of dabbling 
 in art. He sketched a night scene now, with broad 
 effects a single bar of moonlight lit up everything 
 with vivid distinctness. A man lay on the ground 
 stretched out flat and motionless another man 
 bent over him in a queer attitude he held a stick 
 in his hand he was tall and slender there was a 
 certain look about his figure! Awdrey dropped 
 his pencil and stared furtively with eyes dilated 
 with horror at his own production. Then he put 
 his sketch face downward on the table, and turned 
 a white and indescribably perplexed countenance 
 to Dr. Kumsey. 
 
 "What I have drawn is not worth looking at," 
 he said, simulating a yawn as he spoke. " After 
 all I cannot quite reproduce what I saw. I believe 
 J shall cloze off in this chair,"
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 145 
 
 "Do so," said the doctor. 
 
 A few minutes later, when the patient was souna 
 asleep, Dr. Rumsey lifted the paper on which 
 Awdrey had made his sketch. He looked fixedly 
 at the vividly worked-up picture. 
 
 " The man whose back is alone visible has an 
 unmistakable likeness to Awdrey," he muttered. 
 "Poor fellow, what does this mean! diseased 
 nerves of course. The next thing he will say is 
 that he committed the murder himself. He cer 
 tainly needs immediate treatment. But what to do 
 is the puzzle."
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 WHEN lie awoke Awdrey felt much better. He 
 expressed surprise at rinding himself sitting up in 
 stead of in bed, and Rumsey saw that he had once 
 more completely forgotten the occurrence of the 
 night. The doctor resolved that he should not see 
 the sketch he had made he put it carefully away 
 therefore in one of his own private drawers, for 
 he knew that it might possibly be useful later on. 
 At the present moment the patient was better with 
 out it. 
 
 The two men breakfasted together, and then 
 Bumsey spoke. 
 
 "Now," he said, "I won't conceal the truth from 
 you. I watched you last night with great anxiety 
 I am glad I sat up with you, for I am now able 
 to make a fairly correct diagnosis of your case. 
 You are certainly very far from well you are in a 
 sort of condition when a very little more might 
 overbalance your mind. I tell you this because 
 I think it best for you to know the exact truth at 
 the same time pray do not be seriously alarmed, 
 there is nothing as yet in your case to prevent you 
 from completely recovering your mental equi 
 librium, but, in my opinion, to do so you must
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 147 
 
 have complete change of air and absolutely fresh 
 surroundings. I recommend therefore that yoi? 
 go away from home immediately. Do not take 
 your child nor yet your wife with you. If you 
 commission me to do so, I can get you a com 
 panion in the shape of a clever young doctor who 
 will never intrude his medical knowledge on you, 
 but yet will be at hand to advise you in case the 
 state of your nerves requires such interference. I 
 shall put him in possession of one or two facts with 
 regard to your nervous condition, but will not tell 
 him too much. Make up your mind to go away at 
 once, Awdrey, within the week if possible. Start 
 with a sea voyage I should recommend to the 
 Cape. The soothing influence of the sea on nerves 
 like yours could not but be highly beneficial. 
 Take a sea voyage to the Cape by preference, but 
 anywhere. It does not greatly matter where you 
 go. The winter is on us, don't spend it in Eng 
 land. Keep moving about from one place to "an 
 other. Don't over-fatigue yourself in any way, but 
 at the same time allow heaps of fresh impressions 
 to filter slowly through your brain. They will hava 
 a healthy and salutary effect. It is my opinion 
 that by slow but sure degrees, if you fully take my 
 advice in this matter, you will forget what now as 
 sumes the aspect of monomania. In short, you 
 will forget yourself, and other lives and other in 
 terests mingling with yours will give you the 
 necessary health and cure. I must ask you to leave 
 me now, for it is the hour when my patients arrive
 
 148 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 for consultation, but I will call round at your house, 
 late this evening. Do you consent to my scheme? 
 
 " I must take a day to think it over this kind 
 of thing cannot be planned in a hurry." 
 
 " In your case it can and ought to be. You have 
 heaps of money, which is, as a rule, the main dif 
 ficulty. Go home to your wife, tell her at once 
 what I recommend. This is Wednesday, you 
 ought to be out of London on Saturday. Well, 
 my dear fellow, if you have not sufficient energy to 
 carry out what I consider essential to your re 
 covery, some one else must have energy in your 
 behalf and simply take you away. Good-by 
 good-by." 
 
 Awdrey shook hands with the doctor and slowly 
 left the house. When he had gone a dozen yards 
 down the street he had almost forgotten the pre 
 scription which had been given to him. He had a 
 dull sort of wish, which scarcely amounted to a 
 wish in his mind, to reach home in time to take 
 little Arthur for his morning walk. Beyond that 
 faint desire he had no longing of any sort. 
 
 He had nearly reached his own house when he 
 was conscious of footsteps hurrying after him. 
 Presently they reached his side, and he heard the 
 hurried panting of quickened breath. He turned 
 round with a vague sort of wonder to see who had 
 dared to come up and accost him in this way. To 
 his surprise he saw that the intruder was a woman. 
 She was dressed in the plain ungarnished style of 
 the country. She wore an old-fashioned and some-
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 what seedy jacket which reached down to her knees, 
 her dress below was of a faded summer tint, and 
 thin in quality. Her hat was trimmed with rusty 
 velvet, she wore a veil which only reached half 
 way down her face. Her whole appearance was 
 odd, and out of keeping with her surroundings. 
 
 "Mr. Awdrey, you don't know me?" she cried, 
 in a panting voice. 
 
 "Yes, I do," said Awdrey. He stopped in his 
 walk and stared at her. 
 
 "Is it possible," he continued, "that you are 
 little Hetty Armitage?" 
 
 "I was, sir, I ain't now; I'm Hetty Vincent now. 
 I ventured up to town unbeknown to any one to see 
 you, Mr. Awdrey. It is of the greatest importance 
 that I should have a word with you, sir. Can you 
 give me a few minutes all alone?" 
 
 " Certainly I can, Hetty, " replied Awdrey, in a 
 kind voice. A good deal of his old gentleness and 
 graciousness of manner returned at sight of Hetty. 
 He overlooked her ugly attire in short, he did 
 not see it. She recalled old times to him gay 
 old times before he had known sorrow or trouble. 
 She belonged to his own village, to his own peo 
 ple. He was conscious of a grateful sense of re 
 freshment at meeting her again. 
 
 " You shall come home with me," he said. " My 
 wife will be glad to welcome you. How are all the 
 old folks at Grandcourt?" 
 
 " I believe they are well, sir, but I have not been 
 to Grandcourt lately. My husband's farm is three
 
 150 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 miles from the village. Mr. Robert," dropping 
 her voice, " I cannot go home with you. It would 
 be dangerous if I were to be seen at your 
 house. " 
 
 "Dangerous!" said Awdrey in surprise. "What 
 do you mean?" 
 
 u What I say, sir ; I must not be seen talking 
 to you. On no account must we two be seen to 
 gether. I have come up to London unbeknown 
 to anybody, because it is necessary for me to tell 
 you something, and to ask you to ask you Oh, 
 my God !" continued Hetty, raising her eyes sky 
 ward as she spoke, "how am I to tell him?" 
 
 She turned white to her lips now ; she trembled 
 from head to foot. 
 
 "Sir," she continued, "there's some one who 
 suspects." 
 
 "Suspects?" said Awdrey, knitting his brows, 
 "Suspects what? What have suspicious people to 
 do with me? You puzzle me very much by this 
 extraordinary talk. Are you quite well yourself? 
 I recall now that you always were a mysterious 
 little thing; but you are greatly changed, Hetty." 
 He turned and gave her a long look. 
 
 " I know I am, sir, but that cton't matter now. I 
 did not run this risk to talk about myself. Mr. 
 Robert, there's one living who suspects." 
 
 "Come home with me and tell me there," said 
 Awdrey he was conscious of a feeling of irrita 
 tion, otherwise Hetty's queer words aroused no 
 emotion of any sort within him.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 151 
 
 'I cannot go home with you, sir I came up to 
 London at risk to myself in order to warn you." 
 
 "Of what of whom?" 
 
 "Of Mrs. Everett, sir." 
 
 "Mrs. Everett! my wife's friend! you must 
 have taken leave of your sense. See, we are close 
 to the Green Park; if you won't come to my house, 
 let us go there. Then you can tell me quickly 
 what you want to say." 
 
 Awdrey motioned to Hetty to follow him. They 
 crossed the road near Hyde Park Corner, and soon 
 afterward were in the shelter of the Green Park. 
 
 "Now, speak out," said the Squire. "I cannot 
 stay long with you, as I want to take my little son 
 for his customary walk. What extraordinary thing 
 have you to tell me about Mrs. Everett?" 
 
 " Mr. Robert, you may choose to make light of, 
 but in your heart . . . there, I'll tell you every 
 thing. Mrs. Everett was down at Grandcourt lately 
 she was stopping at uncle's inn in the village. 
 She walked out one day to the Plain by ill-luck 
 she met me on her road. She got me to show her 
 the place where the murder was committed. I 
 stood just by the clump of elders where but of 
 course you have forgotten, sir. Mrs. Everett stood 
 with me, and I showed her the very spot. I de 
 scribed the scene to her, and showed her just where 
 the two men fought together." 
 
 The memory of his dream came back to Awdrey. 
 He was very quiet now his brain was quite alert. 
 
 "Go on, Hetty," he said. "Do you know this
 
 152 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 interests me vastly. I have been troubled lately 
 with visions of that queer murder. Only last night 
 I had one. Now why should such visions come to 
 one who knows nothing whatever about it?" 
 
 " Well, sir, they do say " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "It is the old proverb," muttered Hetty. 
 * 'Murder wiU out.'" 
 
 "I know the proverb, but I don't understand 
 your application," replied Awdrey, but he looked 
 thoughtful. " If you were troubled, with these bad 
 visions or dreams I should not be surprised," he 
 continued, "for you really witnessed the thing. 
 By the way, as you are here, perhaps you can help 
 me. I lost my stick at the time of the murder, and 
 never found it since. I would give a good deal to 
 find it. What is that you say?" 
 
 " You'll never find it, sir. Thank the good God 
 above, you'll never find it." 
 
 " I am glad that you recognize the loss not to be 
 a trifle. Most people laugh when I speak of any 
 thing so trivial as a stick. You say I shall never 
 find it again perhaps so. The forgetting it so 
 completely troubles me, however. Hetty, I had a 
 bad dream last night no, it- was not really a 
 dream, it was a vision. I saw that murder I wit 
 nessed the whole thing. I saw the dead man, and 
 I saw the back of the man who committed the 
 murder. I tried hard, but I could not get a glimpse 
 of his face. I wanted to see his face badly. What 
 is the matter, girl? How white you look."
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 153 
 
 "Don't say another word, sir. I have borne 
 much for you and for your people, but there are 
 limits, and if you say another word, I shall lose 
 my self-control." 
 
 " I am sorry my talk has such an effect upon 
 you, Hetty. You don't look too happy, my little 
 girl. Tour face is old I hope your husband is 
 good to you." 
 
 " He is as good as I deserve, Mr. Awdrey. I 
 never had any love to give him he knew that from 
 the first. He married me five years ago because I 
 was pretty, and Aunt Fanny thought I'd best be 
 married she thought it would make things safer 
 but it is a mistake to marry when your heart is 
 given to another." 
 
 " Ah yes, poor Frere you were in love with him, 
 were you not?" 
 
 " No, sir, that I was not. " 
 
 "I forgot it was with Everett poor girl, no 
 wonder you look old." 
 
 Awdrey gave Hetty a weary glance his atten 
 tion was already beginning to flag. 
 
 "It was not with Mr. Everett," whispered Hetty 
 in a low tone which thrilled with passion. 
 
 Awdrey took no notice. His apathy calmed her, 
 and saved her from making a terrible avowal. 
 
 " I'll just tell you what I came to say and then 
 leave you, sir, " she said in a broken voice. " It is 
 all about Mrs. Everett. She stood with me close 
 to the alders, and I described the scene of the 
 murder and how it took place, and all of a sudden
 
 154 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 she looked me in the eyes and said something. 
 She said that Mr. Horace Frere was the man who 
 was murdered but the man who committed the 
 murder was not her son, Mr. Everett. She spoke 
 in an awful sort of voice, and said she knew the 
 truth she knew that her son was innocent. Oh, 
 sir, I got so awfully frightened I nearly let the 
 truth out." 
 
 * You nearly let the truth out the truth? What 
 do you mean?" 
 
 "Mr. Eobert, is it possible that you do not 
 know?" 
 
 "I only know what all the rest of the world 
 knows that Everett is guilty." 
 
 "I see, sir, that you still hold to that, and I am 
 glad of it, but Mrs. Everett is the sort of woman 
 to frighten a body. Her eyes seem to pierce right 
 down to your very heart they seem to read your 
 secret. Mr. Awdrey, will you do what I ask you? 
 Will you leave England for a bit? It would be 
 dreadful for me to have done all that I have done 
 and to find it useless in the end." 
 
 Whatever reply Awdrey might have made to this 
 appeal was never uttered. His attention was at 
 this moment effectually turned- into another chan 
 nel. He saw Mrs. Everett, his wife, and boy com 
 ing to meet him. The boy, a splendid little fel 
 low with rosy cheeks and vigorous limbs, ran down 
 the path with a glad cry to fling himself into his 
 father's arms. He was a princely looking boy, a 
 worthy scion of the old race. Awdrey, absorbed
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 155 
 
 with his son, took no notice of Hetty. TJnper- 
 ceived by him she slipped down a side path and 
 was lost to view. 
 
 "Dad," cried the child, in a voice of rapture. 
 
 Margaret and Mrs. Everett came up to the pair. 
 
 "I hope you are better, Robert," said his wife. 
 
 " I suppose I am, " he answered. " I had a fairly 
 good night. How well Arthur looks this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 " Poor little boy, he was fretting to come to meet 
 you," said Mrs. Awdrey. 
 
 Awdrey turned to speak to Mrs. Everett. There 
 was a good deal of color in her cheeks, and her 
 dark eyes looked brighter and more piercing than 
 ever. 
 
 "Forgive me," she said, "for interrupting this 
 conversation. I want to ask you a question. Mr. 
 Awdrey, I saw you walking just now with a woman. 
 Who was she?" 
 
 Awdrey laughed. 
 
 "Why, she has gone," he said, glancing round. 
 "Who do you think my companion was?" he con 
 tinued, glancing at Margaret. "None other than 
 an old acquaintance pretty little Hetty Armitage. 
 She has some other name now, but I forget what 
 it is. She said she came up to town on purpose 
 to see me, but I could not induce her to come to 
 the house. WTiat is the matter, Mrs. Everett?" 
 
 " I should like to see Hetty Armitage. Did she 
 give you her address?" 
 
 "No, I did not ask her. I wonder why she
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 hurried off so quickly ; but she seemed in a queer, 
 excitable state. I don't believe she is well." 
 
 "I want to see her again," continued Mrs. 
 Everett. "I may as well say frankly that I am 
 fully convinced there is something queer about that 
 woman a very little more and I should put a de 
 tective on her track. I suspect her. If ever a 
 woman carried a guilty secret she does." 
 
 u Oh, come," said Margaret, " you must not allow 
 your prejudices to run away with you. Please re 
 member that Hetty grew up at Grandcourt. My 
 husband and I have known her almost from her 
 birth." 
 
 "A giddy little thing, but wonderfully pretty," 
 said Awdrey. 
 
 "Well, never mind about her now," interrupted 
 Margaret, a slight touch of impatience in her 
 manner. u Please, Robert, tell me exactly what 
 Dr. Rumsey ordered for you." 
 
 "Nothing very alarming," he replied; "the doc 
 tor thinks my nerves want tone. No doubt they 
 do, although I feel wonderfully better this morning. 
 He said something about my leaving England for a 
 time and taking a sea voyage. I believe he intends 
 to call round this evening to talk'over the scheme. 
 Now, little man, are you ready for your walk?" 
 
 "Yes," said the child. He stamped his sturdy 
 feet with impatience. Awdrey took his hand and 
 the two went off in the direction of the Serpentine. 
 Mrs. Everett and Margaret followed slowly in the 
 background.
 
 DR. RUMSET'S PATIENT. 157 
 
 Awdrey remained out for some time with the 
 boy. The day, which had begun by being mild 
 and spring-like, suddenly changed its character. 
 The wind blew strongly from the north soon it 
 rose to a gale. Piles of black clouds came up over 
 the horizon and covered the sky, then heavy sleet 
 showers poured down with biting intensity. 
 Awdrey and the child were quite in the open when 
 they were caught by one of these, and before they 
 could reach any shelter they were wet through. 
 They hurried into the first hansom they met, but 
 not before the mischief was done. Awdrey took a 
 chill, and before the evening was over he was 
 shivering violently, huddled up close to the fire. 
 The boy, whose lungs were his weak point, seemed, 
 however, to have escaped without any serious result 
 he went to bed in his usual high spirits, but his 
 mother thought his pretty baby voice sounded a 
 little hoarse. Early the next morning the nurse 
 called her up ; the child had been disturbed in the 
 night by the hoarseness and a croupy sensation in 
 his throat; his eyes were now very bright and he 
 was feverish. The nurse said she did not like the 
 look of the little fellow ; he seemed to find it dif 
 ficult to breathe, and he was altogether very unlike 
 himself. 
 
 "I'll send a messenger immediately for Dr. 
 Rumsey," said Margaret. 
 
 She returned to her bedroom and awoke her hus 
 band, who was in a heavy sleep. At Margaret's 
 first words he started up keen and interested.
 
 158 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 " What are you saying, Maggie? The boy little 
 Arthur ill?" 
 
 " Yes, he seems very ill ; I do not like his look 
 at all," she replied. "It is I know, very early, but 
 I think I'll send a messenger round at once to ask 
 Dr. Rumsey to call." 
 
 "We ought not to lose a minute," said Awdrey. 
 "I'll go for him myself." 
 
 "You!" she exclaimed in surprise. "But do 
 you feel well enough?" 
 
 " Of course I do, there's nothing the matter with 
 me." 
 
 He sprang out of bed, and rushed off to his 
 dressing-room, hastily put on his clothes, and then 
 went out. As he ran quickly downstairs Marga 
 ret detected an almost forgotten quality in his 
 steps. 
 
 "Why, he is awake again," she cried. "How 
 strange that this trouble about the child should 
 have power to give him back his old vigorous 
 health!" 
 
 Bumsey quickly obeyed Awdrey 's summons, 
 and before eight o'clock that morning he was bend 
 ing over the sick child's cot. 
 
 It needed but a keen glance and an application 
 of the stethoscope to tell the doctor that there was 
 grave mischief at work. 
 
 "It is a pity I was not sent for last night," he 
 said. Then he moved away from the cot, where 
 the bright eyes of the sick baby were fixing him 
 with a too penetrating stare.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 159 
 
 He walked across the large nursery. Awdrey 
 followed him. 
 
 "The child is very ill," said the doctor. 
 
 "What do you mean?" replied Awdrey. "Very 
 ill do you infer that the child is in danger?" 
 
 "Yes, Awdrey, he is undoubtedly in danger. 
 Double pneumonia has set in. Such a complaint 
 at his tender age cannot but mean very grave 
 danger. I only hope we may pull him through." 
 
 " We must pull him through, doctor. Margaret, " 
 continued her husband, his face was white as death, 
 "Dr. Riumsey says that the child is in danger." 
 
 "Yes," answered Margaret. She was as quiet 
 in her manner as he was excited and troubled. 
 She laid her hand now with great tenderness on his 
 arm. The touch was meant to soothe him, and to 
 assure him of her sypmathy . Then she turned her 
 eyes to fix them on the doctor. 
 
 "I know you will do what you can," she said. 
 There was suppressed passion in her words. 
 
 "Kest assured I will," he answered. 
 
 " Of course," cried Awdrey. " Listen to me, Dr. 
 Rumsey, not a stone must be left unturned to pull 
 the child through. You know what his life means 
 to us to his mother and me. We cannot possibly 
 .spare him he must be saved. Had we not better 
 get other advice immediately ?" 
 
 " It is not necessary, but you must please your 
 selves, " answered Rumsey . " I am not a specialist 
 as regards lung affections, although this case is 
 perfectly straightforward. If you wish to have a
 
 160 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 specialist I shall be very glad to consult with Ed 
 ward Cowley." 
 
 " What is his address? I'll go for him at once," 
 said Awdrey. 
 
 Dr. Eumsey sat down, wrote a short note and 
 gave it to Awdrey, who hurried off with it. 
 
 Dr. Eumsey looked at Mrs. Awdrey after her 
 husband had left the room. 
 
 "It is marvellous," he said, "what a change for 
 the better this illness has made in your husband's 
 condition." 
 
 Her eyes filled slowly with tears. 
 
 "Is his health to be won back at such a price?" 
 she asked she turned once again to the sick child's 
 bed. 
 
 " God grant not," said the doctor " rest satisfied 
 that what man can do to save him I will do." 
 
 " I know that, " she replied. 
 
 In an hour's time the specialist arrived and the 
 two doctors had their consultation. Certain reme 
 dies were prescribed, and Dr. Bumsey hurried 
 away promising to send in two trained nurses im 
 mediately. He came back again himself at noon to 
 find the boy, as he expected, much worse. The 
 child was now delirious. All during that long 
 dreadful day the fever rose and rose. The whole 
 aspect of the house in Seymour Street was altered. 
 There were hushed steps, anxious faces, whispered 
 consultations. As the hours flew by the prognos 
 tications of the medical men became graver and 
 graver. Margaret gave up hope as the evening ap-
 
 Dtt. KUMSEY'S PATIENT. 161 
 
 preached. She knew that the little life could not 
 long stand the strain of that all-consuming fever. 
 Awdrey alone was full of bustle, excitement, and 
 confidence. 
 
 "The child will and must recover," he said to 
 his wife several times. When the night began Dr. 
 Kumsey resolved not to leave the child. 
 
 "A man like Rumsey must save him," cried the 
 father. He forgot all about his own nervous 
 symptoms he refused even to listen to his wife's 
 words of anxiety. 
 
 "Poohl" he said, "when children are ill they 
 are always very bad. I was at death's door once 
 or twice myself as a child. Children are bad one 
 moment and almost themselves the next. Is not 
 that so, doctor?" 
 
 "In some cases," replied the doctor. 
 
 " Well, in this case? You think the boy will be 
 all right in the morning come now, your honest 
 opinion." 
 
 "My honest opinion is a grave one, Mr. 
 Awdrey." 
 
 Awdrey laughed. There was a wild note in his 
 merriment. 
 
 " You and Cowley can't be up to much if between 
 you you can't manage to keep the life in a little 
 mite like that," he said. 
 
 " Tho issues of life and death belong to higher 
 than us," answered the doctor slowly. 
 
 Awdrey looked at him again, gave an incredulous 
 smile, and went into the sick-room.
 
 162 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 During the entire night the father sat up with 
 the boy. The sick child did not know either 
 parent. His voice grew weaker and weaker the 
 struggle to breathe became greater. When he had 
 strength to speak, he babbled continually of his 
 playthings, of his walk by the Serpentine the pre 
 vious day, and the little ships as they sailed on 
 the water. Presently he took a fancy into his head 
 that he was in one of the tiny ships, and that he 
 was sailing away from shore. He laughed with 
 feeble pleasure, and tried to clap his burning hands. 
 Toward morning his baby notes were scarcely dis 
 tinguishable. He dozed off for a little, then woke 
 again, and began to talk he talked now all the 
 time of his father. 
 
 a 'Ittle boy 'ove dad," he said. "'Ittle Arthur 
 'oves dad best of anybody best of all." 
 
 Awdrey managed to retain one of the small hands 
 in his. The child quieted down then, gave him a 
 look of long, unutterable love, and about six in the 
 morning, twenty-four hours after the seizure had 
 declared itself, the little spirit passed away. 
 Awdrey, who was kneeling by the child's cot, still 
 holding his hand, did not know when this hap 
 pened. There was a sudden bustle round the bed, 
 he raised his head with a start, and looked around 
 him. 
 
 "What is the matter? Is he better?" he asked. 
 He looked anxiously at the sunken face of the dead 
 child. He noticed that the hurried breathing had 
 ceased.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 163 
 
 "Come away with, me, Robert," said his wife. 
 
 "Why so?" he asked. "Do you think I will 
 leave the child?" 
 
 "Darling, the child is dead." 
 
 Awdrey tottered to his feet. 
 
 "Dead!" he cried. You don't mean it im 
 possible." He bent over the little body, pulled 
 down the bedclothes, and put his hand to the heart, 
 then bending low he listened intently for any 
 breath to come from the parted lips. 
 
 "Dead no, no," he said again. 
 
 "My poor fellow, it is too true," said Dr. Rum- 
 sey. 
 
 "Then before God," began Awdrey he stepped 
 back, the words were arrested on his lips, and he 
 fell fainting to the floor. 
 
 Dr. Rumsey had him removed to his own room, 
 and with some difficulty the unhappy man was 
 brought back to consciousness. He was now lying 
 on his bed. 
 
 " Where am I?" he asked. 
 
 "In your room, on your bed. You are better 
 now, dearest, " said Margaret. She bent over him, 
 trying valiantly to conceal her own anguish in 
 order to comfort him. 
 
 "But what has happened?" he asked. He sud 
 denly sat up. "Why are you here, Rumsey? 
 Margaret, why are your eyes so red?" 
 
 Margaret Awdrey tried to speak, but the words 
 would not come to her lips. 
 
 Rumsey bent forward and took Awdrey 's hand.
 
 164 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "It has pleased Providence to afflict you very 
 sorely, my poor fellow," he said, "but I know for 
 your wife's sake you will be man enough to endure 
 this fearful blow with fortitude." 
 
 "What blow, doctor?" 
 
 " Your child," began the doctor. 
 
 "My child?" said Awdrey. He put his feet on 
 the floor, and stood up. There was a strange ruDte 
 of query in his tone. 
 
 " My child?" he repeated. " What child?" 
 
 a Your child is dead, Awdrey. We did wh&t we 
 could to save him." 
 
 Awdrey uttered a wild laugh. 
 
 "Come, this is too much, "he exclaimed. "You 
 talk of a child of mine I, who never had a child. 
 What are you dreaming about?"
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ON the evening of that same day Awdrey entered 
 the room where his wife was silently giving way 
 to her bitter anguish. She was quite overcome by 
 her grief her eyelids were swollen by much weep 
 ing, her dress was disarranged, the traces of a 
 sleepless night, and the fearful anguish through 
 which she was passing, were visible on her beauti 
 ful face. Awdrey, who had come into the room 
 almost cheerfully, started and stepped back a pace 
 or two when he saw her he then knit his brows 
 with marked irritation. 
 
 " What can be the matter with you, Margaret?" 
 he cried. " I cannot imagine why you are crying 
 in that silly way." 
 
 "I'll try not to cry any more, Eobert," she an 
 swered. 
 
 " Yes, but you look in such dreadful distress ; I 
 assure you, it affects me most disagreeably, and 
 in my state of nerves ! you know, don't you, that 
 nothing ever annoys me more than weak, womanish 
 tears." 
 
 "It is impossible forme to be cheerful to-night," 
 said the wife. " The pain is too great. He was 
 our only child, and such such a, darling."
 
 168 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 Awdrey laughed. 
 
 "Forgive me, my dear," he said, "I really would 
 not hurt your feelings for the world, but you must 
 know, if you allow your common sense to speak, 
 that we never had a child. It has surely been one 
 of our great trials that no child has been given to 
 us to carry on the old line. My poor Maggie," he 
 went up to her quite tenderly, put his arm round 
 her neck, and kissed her, " you must be very un 
 well to imagine these sort of things." 
 
 She suddenly took the hand which lay on her 
 shoulder between both her own. 
 
 "Come with me, Robert," she said, an expres 
 sion of the most intense despair on all her features, 
 "come, I cannot believe that this blight which 
 has passed over you can be final. I'll take you to 
 the room where the little body of our beautiful 
 child is lying. When you see that sweet face, 
 surely you will remember." 
 
 He frowned when she began to speak ; now he 
 disengaged his hand from her clasp. 
 
 "It would not be right for me to humor you," 
 he said. " You ought to see a doctor, Maggie, for 
 you are really suffering from, a strong delusion. 
 If you encourage it it may become fixed, and even 
 assume the proportions of a sort of insanity. Now, 
 my dear wife, try and restrain yourself and listen 
 to me." 
 
 She gazed at him with wide-open eyes. As he 
 spoke she had difficulty in believing her own ears. 
 A case like his was indeed new to her. She had
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 167 
 
 never really believed in the tragedy of his house 
 but now at last the suspected and dreaded blow had 
 truly fallen. Awdrey, like his ancestors before 
 him, was forgetting the grave events of life. Was 
 it possible that he could forget the child, whose 
 life had been the joy of his existence, whose last 
 looks of love had been directed to him, whose last 
 faltering words had breathed his name? Yes, he 
 absolutely forgot all about the child. The stern 
 fact stared her in the face, she could not shut her 
 eyes to it. 
 
 "You look at me strangely, Margaret," said 
 Awdrey. "I cannot account for your looks, nor 
 indeed for your actions during the whole of to-day. 
 Now I wish to tell you that I have resolved to carry 
 out Rumsey's advice he wants me to leave home 
 at once. I spent a night with him was it last 
 night? I really forget but anyhow, during that 
 time he had an opportunity of watching my symp 
 toms. You know, don't you, how nervous I am, 
 how full of myself? You know how this inertia 
 steals over me, and envelops me in a sort of cloud. 
 The state of the case is something like this, Mag 
 gie ; I feel as if a dead hand were pressed against 
 my heart; sometimes I have even a difficulty in 
 breathing, at least in taking a deep breath. It 
 seems to me as if the stupor of death were creep 
 ing up my body, gradually day by day, enfeebling 
 all my powers more and more. Rumsey, who 
 quite understands these symptoms, says that they 
 are grave, but not incurable. He suggests that I
 
 168 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 should leave London and at once. I propose to 
 take the eight o'clock Continental train. Will you 
 come with me?" 
 
 "I?" she cried. "I cannot; our child's little 
 body lies upstairs." 
 
 "Why will you annoy me by referring to that 
 delusion of yours? You must know how painful 
 it is to listen to you. Will you come, Maggie?" 
 
 "I cannot. Under any other circumstances I 
 would gladly, but to-night, no, it is impossible." 
 
 "Very well then, I'll go alone. I have just been 
 up in my room packing some things. I cannot 
 possibly say how long I shall be absent perhaps 
 a few weeks, perhaps a day or two I must be 
 guided in this matter by my sensations." 
 
 "If you come back in a day or two, Robert, I'll 
 try and go abroad with you, if you really think it 
 would do you good," said Margaret. 
 
 "I'll see about that," he replied. "I cannot 
 quite tell you what my plans are to-night. Mean 
 while I find I shall want more money than I have 
 in the house. Have you any by you?" 
 
 "I have twenty-five pounds." 
 
 "Give it to me; it will be quite sufficient. I 
 have about fifteen pounds here." He touched his 
 breast-pocket. "If I don't return soon I'll write 
 to you. Now good-by, Maggie. Try and con 
 quer that queer delusion, my dear wife. Remem 
 ber, the more you think of it, the more it will feed 
 upon itself, until you will find it too strong for 
 you. Good-by, darling."
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 169 
 
 She threw her arms round his neck. 
 
 " I cannot describe what my feelings are at this 
 awful moment," she said. "Is it right for me to 
 let you go alone?" 
 
 " Perfectly right, dearest. What possible harm 
 can come to me?" he said with tenderness. He 
 pushed back the rich black hair from her brow as 
 he spoke. 
 
 "You love me, Robert?" she cried suddenly 
 "at least your love for me remains?" 
 
 He knit his brows. 
 
 "If there is any one I love, it is you," he said, 
 " but I do not know that I love any one it is this 
 inertia, dearest" he touched his breast " it buries 
 love beneath it, it buries all emotion. You are not 
 to blame. If I could conquer it my love for you 
 would be as full, as fresh, and strong as ever. 
 Good-by now. Take care of yourself. If those 
 strange symptoms continue pray consult Dr. 
 Kumsey." 
 
 He went out of the room. 
 
 Margaret was too stricken and stunned to follow 
 him. 
 
 A few days later a child's funeral left the house 
 in Seymour Street. Margaret followed her child 
 to the grave. She then returned home, wondering 
 if she could possibly endure the load which had 
 fallen upon her. The house seemed empty she 
 did not think anything could ever fill it again. 
 Her own heart was truly empty she felt as if 
 there were a gap within it which could never by
 
 170 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 any possibility be closed up again. Since the night 
 after her child's death she had heard nothing from 
 her husband sometimes she wondered if he were 
 still alive. 
 
 Dr. Rumsey tried to reassure her on this point 
 he did not consider Awdrey the sort of man to 
 commit suicide. 
 
 Mrs. Everett came to see Margaret every day 
 during this time of terrible grief, but her excited 
 face, her watchful attitude, proved the reverse 
 of soothing. She was sorry for Margaret, but 
 even in the midst of Margaret's darkest grief 
 she never forgot the mission she had set before 
 herself. 
 
 On the morning of the funeral she followed the 
 procession at a little distance. She stood behind 
 the more immediate group of mourners as the body 
 of the beautiful child was laid in his long home. 
 Had his father been like other men, Margaret 
 would never have consented to the child's being 
 buried anywhere except at Grandcourt. Under ex 
 isting circumstances, however, she had no energy 
 to arrange this. 
 
 About an hour after Mrs. Awdrey's return, Mrs. 
 Everett was admitted into her presence. 
 
 Margaret was seated listlessly by one of the tables 
 in the drawing-room. A pile of black-edged paper 
 was lying near her a letter was begun. Heaps of 
 letters of condolence which had poured in lay near. 
 She was endeavoring to answer one, but found the 
 task beyond her strength.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 171 
 
 "My poor dear!" said Mrs. Everett. She 
 walked up tlie long room, and stooping down by 
 Margaret, kissed her. 
 
 Margaret mechanically returned her ei ibrace. 
 Mrs. Everett untied her bonnet-strings and sat by 
 her side. 
 
 " Don't try to answer those letters yet," she said. 
 u You are really not fit for it. Why don't you have 
 a composing draught and go to bed?" 
 
 "I would rather not; the awakening would be 
 too terrible," said Margaret. 
 
 " You will knock yourself up and get really ill if 
 you go on like this." 
 
 " It does not matter, Mrs. Everett, whether I am 
 ill or well. Nothing matters, " said Margaret, in a 
 voice of despair. 
 
 "Oh, my poor love, I understand you," said the 
 widow. " I do not know in what words to approach 
 your terribly grieved heart there is only one thing 
 which I feel impelled to say, and which may pos 
 sibly at some time comfort you. Your beautiful 
 boy's fate is less tragical than the fate which has 
 fallen upon my only son. When Frank was a little 
 child, Margaret, he had a dreadful illness I 
 thought he would die. I was frantic, for his father 
 had died not long before. I prayed earnestly to 
 God. I vowed a vow to train the boy in the paths 
 of righteousness, as never boy had been trained 
 before. I vowed to do for Frank what no other 
 mother had ever done, if only God would leave him 
 to me. My prayer was answered, and my child
 
 172 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 was saved. Think of him now, Margaret. Mar 
 garet, think of him now. " 
 
 u I do, " answered Margaret. " I have always felt 
 for you my heart has always been bitter with 
 grief for you don't you know it?" 
 
 u I do, I do you have been the soul of all that 
 could be sweet and dear to me. Except Frank 
 Mmself, I love no one as I love you. Ah !" Mrs. 
 Everett suddenly started to her feet the room 
 door had been slowly opened and Awdrey walked 
 in. His face was very pale and more emaciated 
 looking than ever his eyes were bright, and had 
 sunk into his head. 
 
 "Well," he said, with a sort of queer assumption 
 of cheerfulness, " here I am. I came back sooner 
 than I expected. How are you Maggie?" He 
 went up to his wife and kissed her. " How do you 
 do, Mrs. Everett?" 
 
 u I am well, " said Mrs. Everett. u How are you, 
 are you better?" 
 
 " Yes, I am much better in fact, there is little 
 or nothing the matter with me. " 
 
 He sat down on a sofa as he spoke and stared at 
 his wife with a puzzled expression between his 
 brows. 
 
 u What in the world are you in that heavy black 
 for?" he said suddenly. 
 
 " I must wear it, " she said. " You cannot ask 
 me to take it off. " 
 
 "Why should I ask you?" he replied. "Do not 
 excite yourself in that way, Maggie. If you like
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 173 
 
 to look hideous, do so. Black, heavy black, of 
 that sort, does not suit you and you are absolute 
 ly in crepe what does all this mean? It irritates 
 me immensely." 
 
 "People wear crepe when those they love die," 
 said Margaret. 
 
 "Have you lost a relation? "Who?" 
 
 She did not answer. A moment later she left 
 the room. 
 
 When she did so Awdrey got up restlessly, 
 walked to the fire and poked it, then he approached 
 the window and looked out. After a time he re 
 turned to his seat. Mrs. Everett sat facing him. 
 It was her wont to sit very still often nothing 
 seemed to move about her except her watchful eyes. 
 To-day she had more than ever the expression of a 
 person who is quietly watching and waiting. Aw 
 drey, inert as he doubtlessly was, seemed to feel 
 her gaze he looked at her. 
 
 "Where have you been, Mr. Awdrey?" she asked 
 gently. "Did you visit the Continent?" 
 
 He favored her with a keen, half-suspicious 
 glance. 
 
 "No," he said. "I changed my mind about 
 that. I did not wish the water to divide me from 
 my quest. I have been engaged on a most impor 
 tant search." 
 
 "And what was that?" she asked gently. 
 
 " I have been looking for a stick which I missed 
 some years ago." 
 
 "I have heard you mention that before," said
 
 174 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 Mrs. Everett the color flushed hotly into her 
 face. " You seem to attribute a great deal of im 
 portance to that trifle." 
 
 " To me it is no trifle," he replied. u I regard it 
 as a link," he continued slowly, "between me and 
 a past which I have forgotten. When I find that 
 stick I shall remember the past." 
 
 As he spoke he rose again and going to the 
 hearth-rug stood with his back to the fire. 
 
 At that moment Margaret re-entered the room 
 in white she was in a soft, flowing, white robe, 
 which covered her from top to toe it swept about 
 her in graceful folds, and exposed some of the 
 lovely contour of her arms. Her face was nearly 
 as colorless as her dress ; only the wealth of thick 
 dark hair, only the sombre eyes, relieved the mo 
 notony of her appearance. Awdrey gave her a 
 smile and a look of approval. 
 
 " Come here, " he said : " now you are good how 
 sweet you look. Your appearance makes me re 
 call, recall " He pressed his hand to his fore 
 head. " I remember now," he said; "I recall the 
 day we were engaged don't you remember it? the 
 picnic on Salisbury Plain; you were all in white 
 then, too, and you wore somewhat the same intense 
 expression in your eyes. Margaret, you are a 
 beautiful woman." 
 
 She stood close to him he did not offer to kiss 
 her, but he laid one emaciated hand on her shoulder 
 and looked earnestly into her face. 
 
 "You are very beautiful," he said; "I wonder I
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 175 
 
 do not love you." He sighed heavily, and removed 
 his gaze to look intently into the fire. 
 
 Mrs. Everett rose. 
 
 "I'll come again soon," she said to Margaret. 
 Margaret took no notice of her, nor did Awdrey 
 see when she left the room. 
 
 After a moment Margaret went up to her husband 
 and touched him. 
 
 " You must have something to eat, " she said. 
 " It is probably a long time since you had a proper 
 meal." 
 
 "I don't remember," he replied, "but I am not 
 hungry. By the way, Maggie, I recall now what I 
 came back for." His eyes, which seemed to be lit 
 from within, became suddenly full of excitement. 
 
 "Yes," she said as gently as she could. 
 
 "I came back because I wanted you." 
 
 Her eyes brightened. 
 
 " I wanted you to come with me. I do not care 
 to be alone, and I am anxious to leave London 
 again to-night." 
 
 Before Margaret could reply the butler threw 
 open the door and announced Dr. Eumsey. The 
 doctor came quickly forward. 
 
 " I am glad you have returned, Awdrey," he said, 
 holding out his hand as he spoke. " I called to 
 inquire for your wife, and the man told me you 
 were upstairs." 
 
 "Yes, and I am better," said Awdrey. "I came 
 back because I thought perhaps Margaret but by 
 the way, why should I speak so much about my-
 
 176 DR. RUMSET'S PATIENT. 
 
 self? My wife was not well when I left her. I 
 hope, doctor, that she consulted you, and that she 
 is now much better." 
 
 " Considering all things, Mrs. Awdrey is fairly 
 well," said Bumsey. 
 
 "And she has quite got over that delusion?" 
 
 " Quite. " The doctor's voice was full of decision. 
 
 Margaret shuddered and turned away. 
 
 Bumsey seated himself at a little distance from 
 the fire, but Awdrey remained standing. He stood 
 in such a position that the doctor could get a per 
 fect view of him. Bumsey did not fail to avail 
 himself of so excellent a moment for studying this 
 queer case. He observed the wasted face of his 
 patient; the unnaturally large and bright eyes ; the 
 lips which used to be firm as a line, and which gave 
 considerable character to the face, but which had 
 now become loose and had a habit of drooping 
 slightly open; the brows, too, worked at times 
 spasmodically, and the really noble forehead, which 
 in old times betokened intelligence to a marked de 
 gree, was now furrowed with many lines. While 
 Bumsey watched he also made up his mind. 
 
 u I must tear the veil from that man's eyes at any 
 cost," he said to himself. He gave Margaret a 
 glance and she left the room. The moment she did 
 so the doctor stood up. 
 
 "I am glad you have returned," he said. 
 
 "How strange of you to say that," answered 
 Awdrey. " Do you not remember you were the 
 man who ordered me away?"
 
 DR. HUMSEY'S PATIENT. 177 
 
 " I do remember that fact perfectly, but since I 
 gave you that prescription a very marked chang^ 
 has taken place in your condition." 
 
 " Do you think me worse?" 
 
 "In one sense you are." 
 
 Awdrey laughed. 
 
 "How queer that you should say that," he said, 
 * for to tell you the truth, I really feel better; I am 
 not quite so troubled by inertia." 
 
 " I must be frank with you, Awdrey. I consider 
 you very ill." 
 
 Awdrey started when Eumsey said this. 
 
 "Pray speak out, doctor, I dislike riddles," he 
 replied. 
 
 "I mean to speak out very plainly. Awdrey, 
 my poor fellow, I am obliged to remind you of the 
 strange history of your house." 
 
 "What do you mean?" said Awdrey "the his 
 tory of my house?" he continued; " there is a psy 
 chological history, which I dislike to think of; is 
 it to that you refer?" 
 
 "Yes, I refer to the queer condition of brain 
 which men of your house have inherited for several 
 generations. It is a queer doom ; I am forced to 
 say it is an awful doom. Eobert Awdrey, it has 
 fallen upon you." 
 
 "I thought as much," said Awdrey, "but you 
 never would believe it before." 
 
 " I had not cause to believe it before. Now I 
 fully believe it. That lapse of memory, which is 
 *>ne of its remarkable symptoms, has taken place in
 
 178 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 your case. You have forgotten a very important 
 fact in your life." 
 
 "Ah, you are wrong there," said Awdrey. "I 
 certainly have forgotten my walking-stick. I know 
 well that I am a queer fellow. I know too that at 
 times my condition is the reverse of satisfactory, 
 but with this one exception I have never forgotten 
 anything of the least consequence. Don't you re 
 member telling me that the lapse of memory was 
 not of any moment?" 
 
 " It was not, but you have forgotten something 
 else, Awdrey, and it is my duty now to remind you 
 of it." 
 
 "I have forgotten?" began Awdrey. "Well, 
 
 "You had a child a beautiful child." 
 
 Awdrey interrupted with a laugh. 
 
 "I do declare you have got that delusion, too," 
 he said. " I tell you, Dr. Rumsey, I never had a 
 child." 
 
 a Your child is no longer with you, but you had 
 a child. He lived for four years but is now dead. 
 This very afternoon he was laid in his grave. He 
 was a beautiful child more lovely than most. He 
 died after twenty-four hours' illness. His mother 
 is broken-hearted over his loss, but you, his father, 
 have forgotten all about it. Here is the picture of 
 your child come to the light and look at it." 
 
 Rumsey strode up to a table as he spoke, lifted 
 a large photograph from a stand, and held it before 
 Awdrey 's eyes.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 1?9 
 
 Awdrey favoured it with a careless glance. 
 
 "I do not know that face," he said. "How did 
 the photograph get here?" Is Margaret's delusion 
 really so bad? Does she imagine for a moment 
 that the little boy represented in that picture has 
 ever had anything to do with us?" 
 
 "The photograph is a photograph of your son," 
 repeated Bumsey, in a slow, emphatic voice. As 
 he spoke he laid the picture back again on its ebony 
 stand. "Awdrey," he continued, "I cannot ex 
 pect impossibilities I cannot expect you to remem 
 ber what you have absolutely forgotten, but it is 
 my duty to tell you frankly that this condition of 
 things, if not immediately arrested, will lead to 
 complete atrophy of your mental system, and you, 
 in short, will not long survive it. You told me 
 once very graphically that you were a man who 
 carried about with you a dead soul. I did not 
 believe you then. Now I believe that nothing in 
 your own description of your case has been exag 
 gerated. In some way, Awdrey, you must get back 
 your memory." 
 
 "How?" asked Awdrey. He was impressed in 
 spite of himself. 
 
 " Whether you remember or not, you must act as 
 though you remembered. You now think that you 
 never had a child. It is your duty to act as if you 
 had one." 
 
 Awdrey shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "That is impossible," he said. 
 
 " It is not. Weak as your will now is, it is not
 
 180 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 yet so inert that you cannot bring it to bear upon 
 the matter. I observe that Mrs. Awdrey has taken 
 off her mourning. She must put it on again. It 
 would be the height of all that is heartless for her 
 to go about now without showing proper respect to 
 your beautiful child. You also, Awdrey, must 
 wear mourning. You must allow your wife to 
 speak of the child. In short, even though you 
 have no belief, you must allow those who are in a 
 healthy mental condition to act for you in this 
 matter. By doing so you may possibly arrest the 
 malady." 
 
 "I see what you mean," said Awdrey, "but I do 
 not know how it is possible for me to act on your 
 suggestions." 
 
 "For your wife's sake you must try, and also 
 because it is necessary that you should show re 
 spect to the dead heir of your house." 
 
 u Then I am to put a band on my hat and all that 
 sort of thing?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 * It is a trifle, doctor. If you and Margaret wish 
 it, I cannot reasonably refuse. To come back to 
 myself, however, you consider that I am quite 
 doomed?" 
 
 " Not quite yet, although your case is a bad one. 
 I believe you can be saved if only you will exert 
 yourself." 
 
 " Do wishes go for anything in a case like mine?" 
 
 "Assuredly. To hear you express a wish is a 
 capital sign. What do you want to do?"
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 181 
 
 " I have a strange wish to go down to the Court. 
 I feel as if something or some one, whether angel 
 or demon I do not know, were drawing me there. 
 I have wished to be at the Court for some days. 
 I thought at first of taking Margaret with me." 
 
 " Do so. She would be glad to accompany you. 
 She is a wife in a thousand." 
 
 "But on second thoughts," continued Awdrey, 
 " if I am obliged to listen to her bitter distress over 
 the death of a child who never, as far as I can re 
 call, existed, I should prefer not having her." 
 
 "Very well then, go alone." 
 
 " I cannot go alone. In the condition which I 
 am now in, a complete vacuum in all my thoughts 
 may occur, and long before I reach the Court I may 
 forget where I am going." 
 
 "That is possible." 
 
 " Then, Rumsey, will you come with me?" 
 
 The doctor thought a moment. "I'll go with 
 you this evening, " he said, u but I must return to 
 town early to-morrow." 
 
 "Thanks," said Awdrey. Til ring the bell. 
 We shall be in time, if we start at once, to catch the 
 five o'clock train." 
 
 " Remember, Awdrey, that I shall treat you as 
 the child's father. You will find all your tenantry 
 in a state of poignant grief. That dear little fellow 
 was much loved." 
 
 Awdrey pursed up his lips as if he would whistle. 
 A smile dawned in his eyes and vanished.
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 AT a late hour that evening Rumsey and his pa 
 tient arrived at Grandcourt. A telegram had been 
 sent to announce their visit, and all was in readi 
 ness for their reception. The old butler, Hawkins, 
 who had lived in the family for nearly fifty years, 
 came slowly down the steps to greet his master. 
 Hawkins' face was pale, and his eyes dim, as if he 
 had been indulging in silent tears. He was very 
 much attached to little Arthur. Awdrey gave him 
 a careless nod. 
 
 "I hope all is in readiness, Hawkins," he said, 
 " I have brought my friend, Dr. Rumsey , with me ; 
 we should like supper has it been prepared?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Robert I beg your pardon, Squire 
 all is in readiness in the library. " 
 
 u We'll go there after we have washed our hands," 
 said Awdrey. "What room have you got ready 
 for Dr. Rumsey?" 
 
 "The yellow room, Squire, in the west wing." 
 
 " That will do nicely. Rumsey, you and I will 
 inhabit the same wing to-night. I suppose I am 
 to sleep in the room I always occupy, eh, Hawkins?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; Mrs. Burnett, the housekeeper, 
 thought you would wish that." 
 
 fc It does not matter in the least where I sleep ;
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 183 
 
 now order up supper, we shall be down directly. 
 Follow me, doctor, will you?" 
 
 Dr. Bumsey followed Awdrey to the west wing. 
 A few moments later the two men were seated be 
 fore a cheerful meal in the library a large fire 
 burned in the huge grate, logs had been piled on, 
 and the friendly blaze and the fragrance of the 
 wood filled the room. The supper table was drawn 
 into the neighborhood of the fire, and Awdrey 
 lifted the cover from the dish which was placed 
 before him with a look of appetite on his face. 
 
 "I am really hungry," he said "we will have 
 some champagne Hawkins, take some from" he 
 named a certain bin. The man retired, coming 
 back presently with some dusty-looking bottles. 
 The cork was quickly removed from one, and the 
 butler began to fill the glasses. 
 
 Supper came to an end. Hawkins brought in 
 pipes and tobacco, and the two men sat before the 
 fire. Awdrey, who had taken from two to three 
 glasses of champagne, was beginning to feel a little 
 drowsy, but Bumsey talked in his usual pleasant 
 fashion. Awdrey replied by fits and starts ; once 
 he nodded and half fell asleep in his chair. 
 
 "You are sleepy," said Eumsey suddenly; "if 
 you go to bed now you may have a really good 
 night, which will do wonders for you what do you 
 say?" 
 
 " That I am quite agreeable, " said Awdrey, ris 
 ing as he spoke " but is it not too early for you, 
 doctor?"
 
 184 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 * Not at all an undisturbed night will be a treat 
 to me." 
 
 "Well, then, I'll take you to your room." 
 
 They went upstairs together, and a moment later 
 Rumsey found himself in the palatial chamber 
 which had been prepared for him. He was not 
 really sleepy and decided to sit up for a little. A 
 fire burned in the grate, some books lay about he 
 drew his easy-chair forward and taking up a volume 
 of light literature prepared to dip into it he found 
 that it was Stevenson's "Treasure Island," a book 
 which he had not yet happened to read; the story 
 interested him, and he read on for some time. 
 Presently he closed the book, and laying his head 
 against the cushion of the chair dropped fast asleep. 
 
 The events of the day made him dream ; all his 
 dreams were about his queer patient. He thought 
 that he had followed Awdrey on to the Plain that 
 Awdrey's excitement grew worse and worse, until 
 the last lingering doubt was solved, and the man 
 was in very truth absolutely insane. 
 
 In the midst of his dream the doctor was awak 
 ened by a hand being laid on his shoulder he 
 started up suddenly Awdrey, half-dressed and 
 looking ghastly pale, stood before him. 
 
 "What is it?" said Kumsey. "Do you want 
 anything?" 
 
 "I want you," said Awdrey. "Will you come 
 with me?" 
 
 " Certainly where am I to go? Why are you 
 not in bed?"
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 185 
 
 Awdrey uttered a hollow laugh. There was a 
 ring of horror in it. 
 
 "You could not sleep if you were me," he said. 
 "Will you come with me now, at once?" 
 
 " In a moment or two when you are better sit 
 down, won't you here, take my chair where do 
 you want me to go?" 
 
 " Out with me, doctor out of doors. I want you 
 to accompany me on to the Plain." 
 
 "All right, my dear fellow but just allow me to 
 get on my boots." 
 
 The doctor retired to a back part of the room to 
 change his house shoes. While he was doing 
 so, Awdrey "sank down on a chair and laid his 
 hands on his knees, took no notice of Bumsey, but 
 stared straight before him into the centre of the 
 room. 
 
 "I wish you'd be quick, doctor," he said at last. 
 "I don't want to go alone, but I must follow 
 it." 
 
 "Follow what?" said Bumsey. 
 
 "It the queer vision I have told you of it 
 before." 
 
 "Oh, yes, that bad dream you are subject to. 
 Well, I am at your service now." 
 
 Awdrey rose slowly. He pointed with one of his 
 hands. 
 
 "Do you see that?" he said suddenly. 
 
 Bumsey following the direction of his eyes per 
 ceived that he was staring into the part of the room 
 which was in deepest shadow.
 
 186 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "I see nothing, Awdrey," he replied in a kind 
 and soothing voice, " but I perceive by your manner 
 that you do. What is it?" 
 
 "I wonder you cannot see it," replied Awdrey; 
 " it is plain, too plain it seems to fill all that part 
 of the room." 
 
 "The old thing?" asked the doctor. 
 
 " Yes, the old thing but with a certain difference. 
 There is the immense globe of light and the picture 
 in the middle." 
 
 "The old picture, Awdrey?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, but with a difference. The two men 
 are fighting. As a rule they stand motionless in 
 the picture, but to-night they seem to have come 
 alive they struggle, they struggle hard ; one stands 
 with his back to me. The face of the other I can 
 recognize distinctly. It is the face of that young 
 fellow who stayed a few years ago at the inn in 
 our village. Ah ! yes, of course, I know his name, 
 Frere Horace Frere. He has met some one on 
 Salisbury Plain. It is night; the moon is hidden 
 behind clouds. Ha! now it comes out. Now I 
 can see them distinctly. Dr. Bumsey, don't you 
 hear the blows? I do. They seem to beat on my 
 brain. That man who stands with his back to us 
 carries my stick in his hand. I know it is mine, 
 for the whole thing is so intensely plain that I can 
 even see the silver tablet on which my name is en 
 graved. My God ! the man also wears my clothes. 
 I would give all that I possess to see his face. Let 
 us get on the Plain as fast as we can. I may be
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 187 
 
 able to see the reverse side of the picture from 
 there. Come with me, come at once." 
 
 "Poor fellow! matters get worse and worse," 
 thought the doctor. " Well, I must see this thing 
 out." 
 
 Aloud he said: 
 
 " How soon did this vision come to torment you 
 to-night?" 
 
 Awdrey rubbed his eyes. 
 
 "At first when I went to my room I was sleepy," 
 he said. " I began to take off my things. Then 
 I saw a globe of light in the further end of the 
 room. At first it was merely light with no picture 
 in the centre. Then faint shadows began to appear, 
 and by slow degrees the perfect and intensely clear 
 picture which I am now looking at became visible. 
 I stared at it quite motionless for a time. I was 
 absorbed by the deepest interest. Then a mad 
 longing to see the face of the man who stands with 
 his back to us, came over me. I walked about the 
 room trying hard to get even a side view of him, 
 but wherever I went he turned so as to keep his 
 face away ; wherever I went the face of Frere was 
 the only one I could see. Then in a sort of de 
 spair, almost maddened in fact, I rushed from the 
 room. 
 
 "Did you not leave the vision behind you?" 
 
 " Not I it went straight in front of me. When 
 I reached your room and opened the door it came 
 in before me. I know now what I must do. I 
 have been always standing more or less to the right
 
 188 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 of the picture. I must get to the left. I am going 
 to follow it on to the Plain I am going to trace it 
 to the exact spot where that murder was committed. 
 Will you come with me?" 
 
 "Yes, only first you must return to your room, 
 and get into the rest of your clothes. At present 
 you are without a coat." 
 
 "Am I? And yet I burn with heat. Well, I'll 
 do what you want. I will do anything which gives 
 me a chance of seeing that man's face." 
 
 A few moments later Rurnsey and his patient 
 found themselves in the white moonlight of the 
 outer world. Awdrey was now quite silent, but 
 Bumsey noticed that his footsteps faltered once or 
 twice, and that he often paused as if to get his 
 breath. He appeared to be like a man in a frantic 
 hurry ; he gazed straight before him, as if he were 
 looking intently at one fixed object. 
 
 "It goes before me, and guides me to the spot," 
 he said at last, in a choking voice. He panted 
 more violently than ever. Heavy sighs came from 
 him these seemed to be wrung from his very heart. 
 
 In about ten minutes the men got upon the bor 
 ders of the Plain. Awdrey then turned abruptly 
 to his left; each moment he- walked faster and 
 faster; the doctor had now almost to run to keep 
 up with him. At last they reached the rise of 
 ground. A great clump of alder-trees stood to the 
 left; at the right, a little way off, was a dense belt 
 of undergrowth. On the rising ground itself was 
 short grass and no other vegetation. A little way
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 189 
 
 off, nearly one hundred feet lower down, was a 
 pond. The light of the moon was fully reflected 
 here ; across the smooth surface of the pond was a 
 clear path as if of silver. When they reached the 
 brow of this slight elevation, Awdrey stood still. 
 
 " There it was done there, " he said, pointing 
 with his finger. " See, the picture does not move 
 any more, but settles down upon the ground. Now 
 we shall see the whole thing. Good God, Rumsey, 
 fancy looking at a murder which was committed 
 five years ago ! It is going on there now all over 
 again. There stand the two men life-size. Can't 
 we stop them? Can we do nothing?" 
 
 "No, it is only a vision," said the doctor; "but 
 tell me exactly what you see." 
 
 " It is too marvellous, " said Awdrey. " The men 
 move, and I hear the sound of the blows. It is ex 
 traordinary how that fellow keeps his back to me. 
 I can't see his face if I stand here. Come, let us 
 go downhill if we get near the pond we can look 
 up, and I shall get a view of him in another posi 
 tion." 
 
 " Come," said Rumsey. He took Awdrey's arm, 
 and they went down the slope of ground until they 
 almost reached the borders of the pond. 
 
 " Now is it any better?" asked the doctor. " Can 
 you see the man's face now?" 
 
 " No, he has turned ; he still keeps his back to 
 me, the scoundrel. But oh, for God's sake see 
 he fights harder than ever. Ha ! He has thrown 
 Horace Frere to the ground. Now Frere is up
 
 190 Dfi. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 what a strong chap he is ! Now the other man is 
 down. No, he has risen again. Now they both 
 stand and fight, and Dr. Rumsey, did you see 
 that? The man with his back to us uses his stick, 
 straight in front of him like a bayonet, and oh, 
 my God!" 
 
 Awdrey covered his face with his shaking hands. 
 In a moment he looked up again. 
 
 a Can't you see for yourself?" he cried. " Frere 
 is on his back in my opinion he is dead. What 
 has happened?" 
 
 Awdrey swayed from side to side. His excite 
 ment was so intense that he would have fallen ii 
 Dr. Kumsey had not caught him. The night was 
 a chilly one, but the terrified and stricken man was 
 bathed in perspiration. 
 
 "Come, Awdrey, you have told me everything, 
 and it is fully time to return home," said the 
 doctor. 
 
 "I vow I won't go back until I see that man's 
 face, Dr. Rumsey. What name did they give him 
 at the trial? Frank Frank Everett was he the 
 man convicted of the murder?" 
 
 " Yes, of course, you must remember that he is 
 serving his time now in Portland." 
 
 Awdrey faced round suddenly, and looked into 
 the doctor's eyes. 
 
 "It is all a mistake then," he said, in a queer 
 sort of whisper. "I swear that before God. I 
 saw Everett once he was a thickly made man 
 that fellow is slighter, taller, younger. He carrie*
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 191 
 
 my stick and wears my clothes. Why in the name 
 of Heaven can't I see his face? What are you say 
 ing, doctor?" 
 
 * Only that I must take you home, my good fel 
 low. You are my patient, and I cannot permit this 
 excitement any longer." 
 
 " But the murder is still going on. Can't you 
 see the whole thing for yourself? That fellow with 
 his back to us is the murderer. He uses his stick 
 as a bayonet. What did I once hear about that? 
 Oh that I could remember! There is a cloud 
 before my mind oh, God in Heaven, that I could 
 rend it ! Do not speak to me lor a moment, doctor, 
 I am struggling with a memory." 
 
 Awdrey flung himself on the ground he pressed 
 his hands before his eyes he looked like a de 
 mented man. Suddenly he sprang to his feet. 
 
 "I have it," he said with a laugh, which sounded 
 hollow. " If I look in the pond I shall see the man's 
 face. His face must be reflected in it. Stay where 
 you are, doctor, I'll be back with you in a minute. 
 I am getting at it light is coming it is all return 
 ing to me. He uses his stick as a bayonet, prod 
 ding him in the mouth. Old, old what am I say 
 ing? who told me that long ago? Yes I shall see 
 his face in the pond." 
 
 Awdrey ran wildly to the edge of the water. He 
 paused just where the silver light fell full across the 
 dark pond. Rumsey followed him in hot haste. 
 He knew that his patient was in the condition when 
 he might leap into the pond at any moment.
 
 193 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 Catching on to an alder-tree, Awdrey now bent 
 forward until he caught the reflection in the water 
 he slid down on his knees to examine it more 
 carefully. 
 
 u Take care, Awdrey, you'll slip in if you are not 
 careful," cried Rumsey. 
 
 Awdrey was silent for a moment his own re 
 flection greeted him he looked straight down at 
 his own face and figure. Suddenly he rose to his 
 feet: a long shiver ran through his frame. H 
 went up to Eumsey with a queer unsteady laugh. 
 
 "I have seen the man's face," he said. 
 
 "It was your own lace, my dear fellow," said the 
 doctor. " I saw it reflected distinctly in the water. " 
 
 "I am satisfied," said Awdrey, in a changed and 
 yet steady voice. "We can go home now." 
 
 " Well, have you really seen what you wanted to 
 see? Who was the murderer?" 
 
 * Frank Everett, who is serving his time in Port 
 land prison. Dr. Eumsey, I believe I have been 
 the victim of the most horrible form of nightmare 
 which ever visited living man. Anyhow it has van 
 ished the vision has completely disappeared." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you say so, Awdrey." 
 
 "I do not see it any longer I know what I 
 wanted to know. Let us go back to the Court"
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 * WELL, Het, what do you say to a bit o* ne\fB 
 that'll wake you up?" said Farmer Vincent one 
 fine morning in the month of May to his young 
 wife. 
 
 Hetty was in her dairy with her sleeves turned 
 up busily skimming cream. She turned as her 
 husband spoke and looked up into his face. He 
 was a roughly built man on a huge scale. He 
 chucked her playfully under the chin. 
 
 "There are to be all kinds of doings," he said. 
 " I've just been down to the village and the whole 
 place is agog. What do you say to an election, 
 and who do you think is to be put up for the vacant 
 seat?" 
 
 " I don't know much about elections, George,** 
 said Hetty, turning again to her cream. " If that's 
 all it won't interest me." 
 
 "Ay, but 'tain't all there's more behind it." 
 
 " Well, do speak out and tell the news. I'm go 
 ing down to see aunt presently." 
 
 " I wonder how many days you let pass without 
 being off to see that aunt of yours," said the farmer, 
 frowning perceptibly. "Well, then, the news is 
 this. Squire and Mrs. Awdrey and a lot of com-
 
 194 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 pany with them came back to the Court this even 
 ing. Squire and Madam have been in foreign parts 
 all the winter, and they say that Squire's as well 
 as ever a man was, and he and madam mean to live 
 at the Court in future. Why, you have turned 
 white, lass ! What a lot you think of those grand 
 folks!" 
 
 "No, I don't, George, not more than anybody 
 ought. Of course I'm fond of Squire, seeing I 
 know him since he was a little kid and we was 
 always great, me and mine, for holding on to the 
 Family." 
 
 "I've nothing to say agin' the Fam'ly," said 
 farmer Vincent, "and for my part," he continued, 
 "I'm glad Squire is coming to live here. I 
 don't hold with absentee landlords, that 1 don't. 
 There are many things I'll get him to do for me on 
 the farm. I can't move Johnson, the bailiff, one 
 bit, but when Squire's to home 'twill be another 
 matter. Then he's going to stand for Grandcourt. 
 He's quite safe to be returned. So, Het, what with 
 an election and the Fam'ly back again at the Court, 
 there'll be gay doings this summer, or I'm much 
 mistook." 
 
 " To be sure there will, " said Hetty. She pulled 
 a handkerchief out of her pocket as she spoke and 
 wiped some moisture from her brow. 
 
 "You don't look too well, my girl. Now don't 
 you go and overdo things this morning the 
 weather is powerful hot for the time o* year, and 
 you never can stand heat I thought it 'ud cheer
 
 DR. RDMSEY'S PATIENT. 195 
 
 you up to tell you about Squire, for any one can 
 see with half an eye that you are as proud of him 
 and the Fam'ly as woman can be." 
 
 "I'm very glad to hear your news, George," re 
 plied Hetty. "Now if you won't keep me any 
 longer I'll make you some plum duff for dinner." 
 
 "That's a good girl you know my weakness." 
 
 The man went up to her where she stood, and 
 put one of his great arms round her neck. 
 
 "Look at me, Hetty," he said. 
 
 " What is it, George?" She raised her full, dark 
 eyes. 
 
 He gazed down into their depths, anxiously. 
 
 "Are you a bit better, lass?" he asked, a tender 
 intonation in his gruff voice. "Pain in the side 
 any less bad?" 
 
 "Yes, George, I feel much better." 
 
 " Well, I'm glad of that, " he said slowly. * Now 
 you look well at me. Don't you take your eyes off 
 me while I'm a-speaking. I've been counting the 
 days. I mark 'em down on the back of the fowl- 
 house door with a bit of chalk ; and it's forty days 
 and more since you gave me the least little peck of 
 a kiss, even. Do you think you could give me one 
 now?" 
 
 She raised her lips, slowly. He could not but 
 perceive her unwillingness, and a wave of crimson 
 swept up over his face. 
 
 "I don't want that sort," he said, flinging his 
 arm away and moving a step or two back from her. 
 " There, I ain't angry; I ain't no call to be angry j
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 you were honest with me afore we wed. You said 
 plain as girl could speak, 'I ain't got the least bit 
 of love for you, George,' and I took you at your 
 word; but sometimes, Het, it seems as if it 'ud 
 half kill me, for I love you better every day and 
 every hour." 
 
 " I know you're as good a fellow as ever breathed, " 
 said Hetty ; " and I like you even though I don't 
 love you. I'll try hard to be a good wife to you, 
 George, I will truly." 
 
 u You're main pleased about Squire, I take it?" 
 
 a l am main pleased." 
 
 " 'Twere a pity the little chap were took so sud 
 den-like." 
 
 "I s'pose so," said Hetty. 
 
 " You are a queer girl, Hetty. I never seed a 
 woman less fond o' children than you." 
 
 "Well, I ain't got any of my own, you under 
 stand," said Hetty. 
 
 "I understand." The farmer uttered a huge 
 laugh. "I guess I do," he said. "I wish to God 
 you had a child, Hetty ; maybe you'd love it, and 
 love its father for its sake." 
 
 With a heavy sigh the man turned and left the 
 dairy. 
 
 The moment she found herself alone, Hetty flew 
 to the door and locked it. Then standing in the 
 middle of the spotless room she pressed her two 
 hands wildly to her brow. 
 
 "He's coming back," she said aloud; "back to 
 live here; he'll be within a mile of me to-night.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 197 
 
 Any day or any hour I may see him. He's coming 
 back to live. What do folks mean by saying he is 
 well? If he is well, does he remember? And if he 
 remembers oh, my God, I shall go mad if I think 
 much of that any longer I Squire back again at the 
 Court and me here, and -I knowing what I know, 
 and Aunt Fanny knowing what she knows ! I must 
 go and speak to aunt to-day. To-night, too, so 
 soon; he'll be back to-night. My head is giddy 
 with the thought. What does it all mean? Is he 
 really well, and does he remember? Oh, this awful 
 pain in my side! I vowed I'd not take another 
 drop of the black medicine; but there's nothing 
 else keeps me steady." 
 
 Glancing furtively behind her, although there 
 was not a soul in sight, Hetty opened a cupboard 
 in the wall. From a back recess she produced a 
 small bottle ; it was hah* full of a dark liquid. Tak 
 ing up a spoon which lay near she poured some 
 drops into it, and adding a little water, drank it 
 off. She then put the bottle carefully back into its 
 place, locked the cupboard, and slipped the key 
 into her pocket. 
 
 " In a minute, dreams will come, and I'll be much 
 better, " she said to herself. " It seems as if I coulcl 
 bear anything a'most after I'd taken a little of that 
 black stuff; it's a sight better than gin, and I know 
 what I'm doing all the time. I'll go and see aunt 
 the minute I've swallowed my dinner; but now I 
 must hurry to make the plum duff for George." 
 
 She ran briskly off to aftendl to her
 
 198 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 duties. She was now bright and merry ; the look 
 of gloom and depression had completely left her 
 face ; her eyes shone with a contented and happy 
 light. As she bustled about her kitchen opening 
 and shutting her oven, and filling up the different 
 pots, which were necessary for cooking the dinner, 
 with hot water, her white teeth gleamed, and smiles 
 came and went over her face. 
 
 "To think of Aunt Fanny's toothache mixture 
 doing this for me," she said to herself. "Aunt 
 Fanny 'ud put a bit on cotton wool and put it into 
 the hole of her tooth, and the pain 'ud be gone in a 
 jiffy ; and now I swallow a few drops, and some 
 how it touches my heart, and my pain goes. 
 Aunt Fanny wonders where her toothache cure is ; 
 she ain't likely to hear from me. Oh, it's qpite 
 wonderful how contented it makes me feel !" 
 
 Hetty was a good housewife, and there was noth 
 ing slatternly nor disorderly about her kitchen. 
 
 The dinner, smoking hot and comfortable, waa 
 upon the table when Vincent came in at twelve 
 o'clock to partake of it. There was a great piece 
 of bacon and some boiled beans. These were im 
 mediately followed by the plum duff. The farmer 
 ate heartily, and Hetty piled up his plate whenever 
 it was empty. 
 
 "You scarcely take a pick yourself, little girl," 
 lie said, seizing one of her hands as she passed and 
 squeezing it affectionately. 
 
 "I ain't hungry, George." 
 
 "Excited 'bout Squire, I guess."
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 199 
 
 "Well, p'raps I am a bit; you don't mind if I 
 go and talk it all over with aunt?" 
 
 "That I don't; when you smile at me so cheer 
 ful like that there's nought I wouldn't give yer. 
 Now you look here, Griffiths, the steward, is going 
 to get up a sort of display at the Court, and the 
 villagers are going ; there is talk of a supper after 
 ward in the barns, but that may or may not be. 
 What do you say to you and me going into the 
 avenue and seeing Squire and Madam drive in. 
 What do you say, Het?" 
 
 "Oh, George, I'd like it." 
 
 " You would not think of giving a body a kiss for 
 it, eh?" 
 
 "Yes, that I would." 
 
 She ran behind him, flung her soft arms round 
 his neck, and pressed a kiss against his cheek just 
 above his whiskers. 
 
 " That won't do, " he said. " I won't take yer for 
 that I must have it on my lips. " 
 
 She gave him a shy peck something like a robin. 
 He caught her suddenly in his arms, squeezed her 
 to his heart, and kissed her over and over again. 
 
 " I love thee more than words can say," he cried. 
 " I am mad to get your love in return. Will the 
 day ever come, Het?" 
 
 " I don't know, George ; I'd like to say soto please 
 you, but I can't tell a lie about a thing like that." 
 
 "To be sure, you can't," he said, rising as he 
 gpoke. "You'd soon be found out." 
 
 "I'd like well to love you," she continued, "for
 
 200 D12. RDMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 you're good to me; but now I must be off to see 
 Aunt Fanny." 
 
 Vincent left the kitchen, and Hetty hurried to her 
 room to dress herself trimly. Ten minutes later 
 she was on her way to the village. 
 
 The pretty little place already wore a festive air. 
 Bunting had been hung across the streets, flags 
 were flying gayly from many upper windows. The 
 shop-keepers stood at their doors chatting to one 
 another ; several of them nodded to Hetty as she 
 passed by. 
 
 "That you, Hetty Vincent?" called out one 
 woman. "You've heard the news, I guess." 
 
 "Yes, about Squire and Madam," said Hetty. 
 
 "It has come unexpected," said the woman. 
 "We didn't know until this morning that Squire 
 was to be back to-night. Mr. Griffiths got the 
 letter by the first post, and he's been nearly off his 
 head since; there ain't a man in the village though 
 that hasn't turned to help him with a will, and 
 there are to be bonfires and all the rest. They say 
 Squire and Madam are to live at the Court now. 
 Pity the poor child went off so sudden. He were 
 a main fine little chap ; pity he ain't there to return 
 home with his father and mother. You look better, 
 Hetty Vincent not so peaky like. Pain in the 
 side less?" 
 
 "Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't," 
 answered Hetty ; " it's much better to-day. I can't 
 stay talking any longer though, Mrs. Martin, for I 
 want to catch Aunt Fanny."
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 201 
 
 " Well, you'll find her at home, but as busy as a 
 bee, the whole place is flocking to the inn to learn 
 the latest news. We're a-going up to the Court 
 presently to welcome 'em home. You and your 
 good man will come, too, eh, Hetty?" 
 
 u Yes, for sure, " answered Hetty. She continued 
 her walk up the village street. 
 
 Mrs. Armitage was cooling herself in the porch 
 of the little inn when she saw her niece approach 
 ing. 
 
 Hetty hurried her steps, and came panting to 
 her side. 
 
 "Aunt Fanny, is it true?" she gasped. 
 
 "True? Yes, child, it's true," said Mrs. Armi 
 tage. "They're coming home. You come along 
 in and stand in the shelter, Hetty. Seems to me 
 you grow thinner and thinner." 
 
 " Oh, aunt, never mind about my looks just now; 
 have you heard anything else? How is he?" 
 
 Mrs. Armitage looked behind her and lowered 
 her voice. 
 
 * They do say that Squire's as well as ever he 
 wor," she remarked. "Why, he's going to stand 
 for Grandcourt. In one way that's as it should be. 
 We always had Awdreys in the House we like to 
 be represented by our own folk." 
 
 "Will any one oppose him?" asked Hetty. 
 
 "How am I to say? there's nothing known at 
 present. He is to be nominated to-morrow; and 
 that's what's bringing 'em home in double quicl? 
 time,"
 
 203 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "Are you going to the Court to-night, aunt?** 
 
 a l thought I'd run round for an hour just to see 
 the carriage roll by, and get a glimpse of Squire and 
 Madam, but I must hurry back, for there'll be a lot 
 to be done here." 
 
 "Shall I come and help you and uncle to-night?" 
 
 Mrs. Armitage looked her niece all over. 
 
 " That's a good thought," she said, " if your man 
 will spare you." 
 
 "Oh, I can ask him; I don't think he'll refuse." 
 
 u Well, you're spry enough with your fingers and 
 legs when you like. I can't stay out here talking 
 any more, Het." 
 
 Hetty came np close to her aunt, and lowered 
 her voice to a whisper. 
 
 "Aunt Fanny," she said, "one word afore you 
 goes in Do you think it is safe, him coming back 
 like this?" 
 
 " Safe," echoed the elder woman in a tone hoarse 
 with a queer mixture of crossness and undefined 
 fear. " Squire's safe enough ef you can keep things 
 to yourself." 
 
 "Me?" echoed Hetty. "Do you think I can't 
 hold my tongue?" 
 
 " Tour tongue may be silent, but there are other 
 ways of letting out a secret. Ef ever there was a 
 tell-tale face yours is one. You're the terror of my 
 life with your aches and your pains, and your start- 
 ings, as if you saw a shadow behind yer all the 
 time. It's a good thing you don't live in the vil 
 lage. As to Vincent, pore man, he's as blind as a
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 203 
 
 bat; he don't see, or he won't see, what's staring 
 him in the face." 
 
 "For God's sake, Aunt Fanny, what do you 
 mean?" 
 
 "I mean this, girl. Yincent's wife carries a 
 secret, and she loves one she ought not to love." 
 
 " Oh ! Aunt Fanny, you rend my heart when you 
 talk like that." 
 
 " I won't again," said Mrs. Armitage, " but I had 
 to speak out when you came to-day. It was my 
 opportunity, and I had to take it. Queer stories 
 will be spread ef you ain't very careful. You've 
 nought to do with the Squire, Hetty. Go and 
 see him to-night with the rest of 'em, and then be 
 satisfied. You keep quiet at the farm now he's at 
 the Court; don't you be seen a-talking to him or 
 a-follerin' him about." 
 
 " I won't, I won't." 
 
 "Well, I thought I'd warn yer now I must get 
 back to my work." 
 
 "One minute first, aunt you know there ain't 
 a soul I can speak to but you, and I'm near mad 
 with the weight of my secret at times. " 
 
 "You should take it quiet, girl you fret o'er 
 much. I really must leave you, Hetty; there's 
 your uncle calling out to me." 
 
 "One minute you must answer my question 
 first." 
 
 " Well, well what a girl you are ! I'm glad you 
 ain't my niece. Coming, Armitage. Now, Hetty, 
 be quick. My man's temper ain't what it wor and
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 I daren't cross 'im. Now what is it you want to 
 say?" 
 
 " It's this Aunt Fanny. Ef Mr. Eobert is quite 
 well as well as ever he wor in his life do you 
 think he remembers?" 
 
 " Not he. He'll never remember again. They 
 never do." 
 
 "But, aunt, they never get well, either." 
 
 "That's true enough." 
 
 "And they say he's quite well as well as ever 
 he was in all his life. " 
 
 * Well, Hetty I can say no more. "We'll see to 
 night you and me. Tou keep alongside of me in 
 the avenue, and when he passes by in the carriage 
 we'll look at him straight in the face and we'll soon 
 know. You noticed, didn't you, how queer his 
 eyes got since that dark night. It'll be fully light 
 when they drive up to the Court, and you and me 
 we'll look at him straight in the face and we'll know 
 the worst then." 
 
 u Yes, Aunt Fanny. Yes, I'll keep close to you. " 
 
 " Do, girl. Now I must be off. You can sit in 
 the porch awhile and rest yourself. Coming, Armi- 
 tage." 
 
 Hetty stayed down at the inn through the re 
 mainder of the day. 
 
 In the course of the evening Vincent strode in. 
 She was in the humor to be sweet to him, and he 
 was in high spirits at her unwonted words and looks 
 of affection. 
 
 The village presented a gayer and gayer spectacle
 
 JD. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 as tlie hours went by. High good humor was the 
 order of the day. Squire and Madam were return 
 ing. Things must go well in the future. 
 
 Griffiths was seen riding up and down altering 
 the plan of the decorations, giving orders in a sten 
 torian voice. At last the time came when the vil 
 lagers were to assemble, some of them outside their 
 houses, some along the short bit of road which 
 divided the village from the Court, 'some to line 
 the avenue up to the Court itself. 
 
 Hetty and Mrs. Armitage managed to keep 
 together. George Vincent and Armitage preceded 
 them at a little distance. They walked solemnly 
 through the village street, Armitage pleased but 
 anxious to return to the inn, Vincent thinking of 
 Hetty, and vaguely wondering by what subtle 
 means he could get her to love him, Hetty and 
 Mrs. Armitage weighed down by the secret which 
 had taken the sunshine out of both their lives. 
 They made straight for the avenue, and presently 
 stationed themselves just on the brow of a rising 
 slope which commanded a view of the gates on one 
 side and of the Court itself on the other. 
 
 Hetty's excitable heart beat faster and faster. 
 Dreadful as her secret was, she was glad, she re 
 joiced, at the fact that the Squire was coming home. 
 She would soon see him again. To look at him 
 was her pleasure ; it was the breath of her highest 
 life; it represented Paradise to her ignorant and 
 unsophisticated mind. Her eyes grew bright as 
 stars. A great deal of her old loveliness returned
 
 20C 
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 to her. Vincent, who with Armitage had taken up 
 his position a few steps further down the avenue, 
 kept looking back at her from time to time. 
 
 " Why, man, " said the landlord of the village inn, 
 with a hoarse laugh, "you're as much in love with 
 that wife of your'n as if you hadn't been wedded 
 for the last five years." 
 
 a Ay, I am in love with her, " said Vincent. " I've 
 got to win her yet, that's why. Strikes me she 
 looks younger and more spry than I've seen her 
 for many a year, to-night." 
 
 "She's mortal fond of Squire and Madam," said 
 the landlord. "She always wor." 
 
 "Maybe," replied Vincent, in a thoughtful tone. 
 He looked again at his wife's blooming face; a 
 queer uncomfortable sense of suspicion began 
 slowly to stir in his heart. 
 
 The sound of wheels was at last distinctly audi' 
 ble ; bonfires were lit on the instant ; cheers echoed 
 up from the village. The welcoming wave of sound 
 grew nearer and nearer, each face was wreathed 
 with smiles. Into the avenue, with its background 
 of eager, welcoming faces, dashed the spirited 
 grays, with their open landau. 
 
 Awdrey and his wife sat side by side. Other 
 carriages followed, but no one noticed their occu 
 pants. All eyes were turned upon Awdrey. He 
 was bending forward in the carriage, his hat was 
 off, he was smiling and bowing ; now and then he 
 uttered a cheerful word of greeting. Some of the 
 men, as he passed, darted forward to clasp his out-
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 stretched hand. No one who saw him now would 
 have recognized him for the miserable man who 
 had come to the Court a few months back. His 
 youth sat well upon him; his athletic, upright 
 figure, his tanned face, his bright eyes, all spoke 
 of perfect health, of energy both of mind and body. 
 The Squire had come home, and the Squire was 
 himself again. The fact was patent to all. 
 
 Margaret, who was also smiling, who also bowed 
 and nodded, and uttered words of welcome, was 
 scarcely glanced at. The Squire was the centre of 
 attraction ; he belonged to the people, he was theirs 
 their king, and he was coming home again. 
 
 "Bless 'im, he's as well as ever he wor," shouted 
 a sturdy farmer, turning round and smiling at his 
 own wife as he spoke. 
 
 " Welcome, Squire, welcome home ! Glad to ,3ee 
 yer so spry, Squire. We're main pleased to have 
 yer back again, Squire," shouted hundreds of 
 voices. 
 
 Hetty and her aunt, standing side by side, were 
 pushed forward by the smiling, excited throng. 
 
 Awdrey's smiles were arrested on his lips, for a 
 flashing instant Hetty's bright eyes looked full 
 into his ; he contracted his brows in pain, then once 
 again he repeated his smiling words of welcome. 
 The carriage rolled by. 
 
 "Aunt Fanny, he remembers!" whispered Hetty 
 in a low voice.
 
 CHAPTEE XVHL 
 
 A HASTY supper had been got up in some large 
 barns at the back of the Court. When the Squire's 
 carriage disappeared out of sight, Griffiths rode 
 hastily down to invite the villagers to partake of 
 the hospitality which had been arranged for them. 
 He passed Hetty, was attracted by her blooming 
 face, and gave her a warm invitation. 
 
 "Come along, Mrs. Vincent," be said, "we can't 
 do without you. Your husband has promised to 
 stay. I'll see you in the west barn in a few min 
 utes' time." 
 
 Vincent came up at this moment and touched 
 Hetty on her shoulder. 
 
 " I thought we might as well go in for the whole 
 thing,", he said, "and I'm a bit peckish. You'd 
 like to stay, wouldn't you, Het?" 
 
 " That I would," she replied." " You'll come too, 
 aunt?" she continued, glancing at Mrs. Armitage. 
 
 "No, I can't be spared," replied Mrs. Armitage; 
 "me and Armitage must hurry back to the inn 
 We've been away too long as it is." 
 
 "Oh, George, I promised to help Aunt Fanny 
 to-night," said Hetty, torn by her desire to remain
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIEtiT. 
 
 in the Squire's vicinity and the remembrance of 
 her promise. 
 
 "We'll let you off, Het," said the old uncle, lay 
 ing his heavy hand on her shoulder. " Go off with 
 your good man, my girl, and enjoy yourself." 
 
 Armitage and his wife hurried down the avenue, 
 and Hetty and Yincent followed the train of vil 
 lagers who were going along by the shrubbery in 
 the direction of the west barn. There were three 
 great barns in all, and supper had been laid in 
 each. The west barn was the largest and the most 
 important, and by the time the Vincents reached 
 it the building was full from end to end. Hetty 
 and her husband, with a crowd of other people, re 
 mained outside. They all stood laughing and jok 
 ing together. The highest good humor was prev 
 alent. The Squire's return the pleasure it gave 
 the villagers his personal appearance, the look of 
 health and vigor which had been so lamentably 
 absent from him during the past years, and which 
 now to the delight of every one had so fully returned 
 the death of the child the look on Margaret's 
 face were the only topics of the hour. But it was 
 the subject of the Squire himself to whom the peo 
 ple again and again returned. They were all so 
 unaffectedly glad to have him back again. Had he 
 ever looked so well before ? What a ring of strength 
 there was in his voice ! And then that tone with 
 which he spoke to them all, the tone of remem^ 
 brance, this it was which went straight to the hearts 
 of the men and women who had known him from
 
 210 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 his boyhood. Yes, the Squire was back, a strong 
 man in his prime, and the people of Grandcourt 
 had good reason for rejoicing. 
 
 " He'll be as good a Squire as his father before 
 him," said an old man of nearly eighty year**, hob 
 bling up close to Hetty as he spoke. " They did 
 whisper that the curse of his house had took 'im, 
 but it can't be true there ain't no curse on his 
 face, bless 'im. He's good to the heart's core, and 
 strong too and well. He'll be as good a Squire as 
 his father; bless 'im, say I, bless 'im." 
 
 "Het, you look as white as a sheet," said Vin 
 cent, turning at that moment and catching his wife's 
 eye. " There girl, eat you must. I'll squeeze right 
 into the barn and you come in ahind me. I'm big 
 enough to make way for a little body like you." 
 
 Vincent squared his shoulders and strode on in 
 front. After some pushing he and Hetty found 
 themselves inside the barn. The tables which had 
 been laid from one end to the other, were crowded 
 with eager, hungry faces. Griffiths and other ser 
 vants from the Court were flying here and there, 
 pressing hospitality on every one. Vincent was 
 just preparing to ensconce himself in a vacant 
 corner, and to squeeze room for Hetty close to him, 
 when the door at the other end of the long barn 
 was opened, and Awdrey, Margaret, and some visi 
 tors came in. 
 
 Immediately all the villagers rose from their 
 seats, and an enthusiastic cheer resounded among 
 the rafters of the old barn. Hetty standing on tip-
 
 D&. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 toe, and straining her neck, could see Awdrey shak 
 ing hands right and left. Presently he would come 
 to her, he would take her hand in his. She could 
 also catch a glimpse of Margaret's stately figure, 
 of her pale, high-bred face, of the dark waves of 
 her raven black hair. Once again she looked at 
 the Squire. How handsome he was, how manly, 
 and yet and yet something seemed to come up 
 in Hetty's throat and almost to choke her. 
 
 "You ain't well, Het," said her husband. He 
 had also risen from his seat, and pushing out, had 
 joined Hetty in the crowd. " The air in this place 
 is too close for you, Hetty. Drat that supper, we'll 
 get into the open air once again." 
 
 " No, we won't," answered Hetty. " I must wait 
 to speak to Squire, happen what may." 
 
 " Why, it'll be half an hour before he gets as far 
 as here," said Vincent. "Well," he added, look 
 ing back regretfully at his plate, which was piled 
 with pie and other good things ; " if we must stay 
 I'm for a bit of supper. There's a vacant seat at 
 last ; you slip in by me, Het. Ah, that cold pie is 
 just to my taste. What do you say to a tiny 
 morsel, girl?" 
 
 "I could not eat, George, it would choke me," 
 said Hetty, "I'm not the least bit hungry. I had 
 tea an hour ago down at the inn. You eat, George, 
 do, George ; do go down and have some supper. 
 I'll stand her and wait for Squire and Madam." 
 
 "You are daft on Squire and Madam," said the 
 man angrily.
 
 DR. KUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 Hetty did not answer. It is to be doubted if she 
 heard him. One fact alone was filling her horizon 
 She felt quite certain now that the Squire remem 
 bered. What then was going to happen? Was he 
 going to be an honorable man? Was he going to 
 use the memory which had returned to him to re 
 move the cruel shame and punishment from 
 another? If so, if indeed so, Hetty herself would 
 be lost. She would be arrested and charged with 
 the awful crime of perjury. The horrors of the law 
 would fall upon her; she would be imprisoned, she 
 would " 
 
 "No matter," she whispered stoutly to herself, 
 " it is not of myself I think now, it is of him. He 
 also will be tried. Public disgrace will cling to his 
 name. The people who love him so will not be 
 able to help him; he would suffer even, even to 
 death : the death of the gallows. He must not tell 
 what he knew. He must not be allowed to be 
 carried away by his generous impulses. She, 
 Hetty, must prevent this. She had guarded his 
 secret for him during the long years when the cloud 
 was over his mind. He must guard it now for him 
 self. Doubtless he would when she had warned 
 him. Could she speak to him to-night? Was it 
 possible?" 
 
 " Hetty, how you do stand and stare," said George 
 Vincent; he was munching his pie as he spoke. 
 Hetty had been pressed up against the table where 
 he was eating. 
 
 "I'm all right, George," she said, but she spoke
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 213 
 
 3 if she had not heard the words addressed to 
 ner. 
 
 "If you're all right, come and have a bit of 
 supper." 
 
 "I don't want it. I'm not hungry. Do eat 
 while you can and let me be. " 
 
 "I'll let you be, but not out of my sight," mut 
 tered the man. He helped himself to some more 
 pie, but he was no longer hungry. The jealous 
 fiend which had always lain dormant in his heart 
 from the day when he had married pretty Hetty 
 Armitage and discovered that she had no love to 
 give to him was waking up now into full strength 
 and vigor. What was the matter with Hetty? 
 How queer she looked to-night. She had always 
 been queer after a certain fashion she had always 
 been different from other girls, but until to-night, 
 Vincent, who had watched her well, had never 
 found anything special to lay hold of. But to-night 
 things were different. There must be a reason for 
 Hetty's undue excitement, for her changing color, 
 for her agitation, for the emotion on her face. Now 
 what was she doing?" 
 
 Vincent started from his seat to see his wife mov 
 ing slowly up the room, borne onward by the pres 
 sure of the crowd. Several of the villagers, im 
 patient at the long delay, had struggled up the 
 barn to get a hand-shake from the Squire and his 
 wife. Hetty was carried with the rest out of her 
 husband's sight. Vincent jumped on a bench in 
 order to get a view. He saw Hetty moving for-
 
 814 2V RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 ward, he ha<J a good glimpse of her profile, the 
 color on the theek nearest to him was vivid as a 
 damask rose Her whole little figure was alert, 
 full of determination, of a queer impulsive longing 
 which the nvin saw without understanding. Sud 
 denly he ean his wife fall backward against some 
 of the a/lvATicing crowd; she clasped her hands 
 together, tfon uttered a shrill, piercing cry. 
 
 " Take TDK out of this for the love of God, Squire," 
 she panteiV 
 
 "Is that young woman Mrs. Vincent?" suddenly 
 cried ai>iotAier voice. " Then, if so, I've something 
 to say to her." 
 
 It wa Mrs. Everett who had spoken. Hetty had 
 Hot seen her until this moment. She was walking 
 np the room accompanied by Awdrey's sisters, Ann 
 and Dorfthy. 
 
 "I can t stay I won't meet her take me away, 
 take me tway, into the air, Squire," said Hetty. 
 "Oh, I a'tt suffocating," she continued, "the room 
 is rising ^p as if it would choke me." 
 
 "Open that door there to your right, Griffiths," 
 said Awd rey, in a tone which rose above the tumult. 
 "Come, Mrs. Vincent, take my_ arm." 
 
 He drtfw Hetty's hand into his, and led her out 
 by a side door. The crowd made way for them. 
 In awoiJher instant the excited girl found the cool 
 evening air blowing on her hot cheeks. 
 
 *I m sorry you found the room too close," 
 began Awdrey. 
 
 u Ob, it was not that, sir, not really. Just wait
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIEb . 
 
 a minute, please, Mr. Eobert, until I got m/L ath. 
 I did not know that she that she was coming ^ jre." 
 
 "Who do you mean?" asked Awdrey. 
 
 "Mrs. Everett. I can't bear her. It was the 
 sight of her, sudden-like, that took the breath from 
 me." 
 
 Awdrey did not speak for a moment. 
 
 "You are better now," he said then, in a stony 
 tone. " Is your husband here?" 
 
 "Yes, but I don't want him." 
 
 Hetty, in her excitement, laid both hands on the 
 Squire's arm. 
 
 "Mr. Kobert, I must see you, and alone," she 
 panted. 
 
 Awdrey stepped back instinctively. 
 
 "You don't want me to touch you, you don't 
 want to have anything to do with me, and yet and 
 yet, Mr. Robert, I must see you by yourself. 
 When I can see you alone?" 
 
 "I cannot stay with you now/' said Awdrey, in 
 a hurried voice. " Come up to the house to-mor 
 row. No, though, I shall have no time to attend 
 to you to-morrow." 
 
 "It must be to-morrow, sir. It is life or death; 
 yes, it is life or death." 
 
 "Well, to-morrow let it be," said Awdrey, after 
 a pause, " six o'clock in the evening. Don't call at 
 the house, come round to the office. I'll be there 
 and I'll give you a few minutes. Now I see you 
 are better," he continued, "I'll go back to the barn 
 and fetch Vincent."
 
 216 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 He turned abruptly. On the threshold of the 
 door by which he had gone out he met Mrs. 
 Everett. 
 
 " Where is that young woman?" she demanded. 
 
 " You seem to have frightened her," said Awdrey. 
 * You had better not go to her now, she was half- 
 fainting, but I think the fresh air has put her right 
 again." 
 
 His face looked cool and composed. 
 
 "Fainting or not," said Mrs. Everett, "I must 
 see her, for I have something to say to her. The 
 fact is, I don't mind telling you, Mr. Awdrey, that 
 I accepted your wife's kind invitation more with 
 the hope of meeting that young woman than for 
 any other reason." 
 
 Awdrey raised his brows as if in slight surprise. 
 
 "I left Mrs. Vincent outside," he repeated. 
 
 "Then pray let me pass." 
 
 "If you want my wife I'll take you to her," said 
 Vincent's voice at that moment. 
 
 "Glad to see you again, Vincent," said Awdrey. 
 He held out his hand to the farmer, who stepped 
 back a pace as if he did not see it. 
 
 "Obliged, I'm sure, sir," he said awkwardly. 
 "You'll excuse me now, Squire, I want to get to 
 my wife." 
 
 "Is that young woman really your wife?" de 
 manded Mrs. Everett, in an eager voice. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " Then I've something very important I wish to 
 say to her."
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 217 
 
 "I'll find out if she's well enough to see you, 
 ma'am. Hetty is not to say too strong." 
 
 The man pushed by, elbowing his way to right 
 and left. Mrs. Everett followed him. He quickly 
 reached the spot where Awdrey had left Hetty. 
 She was no longer there. 
 
 " Where is she?" asked Mrs. Everett, in an eager 
 tone. 
 
 " I can't tell you, ma'am. She is not here." 
 
 "Do you think she has gone home?" 
 
 " That's more'n I can say. May I ask what your 
 business is with my wife?" 
 
 u Tour wife is in possession of a secret which I 
 mean to find out." 
 
 Vincent's face flushed an angry red. 
 
 "So others think she has a secret," he muttered 
 to himself. 
 
 Aloud he said, " May I ask what yer name is, 
 ma'am?" 
 
 " My name is Mrs. Everett. I am the mother of 
 the man who was accused of murdering Horace 
 Frere on Salisbury Plain six years ago." 
 
 " Ah," said Vincent, " it's a good way back since 
 that 'appened; we've most forgot it now. I'm 
 main sorry for yer, o' course, Mrs. Everett. T' were 
 a black day for yer when your son " 
 
 " My son is innocent, my good sir, and it is my 
 belief that your wife can help me to prove it." 
 
 "No, you're on a wrong tack there," said Vin 
 cent slowly. "What can Hetty know?" 
 
 "Then you won't help me?"
 
 218 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 " I say nought about that. The hour is late, and 
 my wife ain't well. You'll excuse me now, but I 
 must f oiler 'er." 
 
 Vincent walked quickly away. He strode with 
 long strides across the grass. After a time he 
 stopped, and looked to right and left of him. 
 lliere was a rustling sound in a shrub near by. 
 Hetty stole suddenly out of the deep shadow. 
 
 " Take me home, George, I've been waiting for 
 you," she said. 
 
 " Well, these are queer goings-on," said the man. 
 "There was a lady, Mrs. Everett, and she said 
 never mind now what she said. Tell me, Het, as 
 you would speak the truth ef you were a-dying, 
 what did yer want with Squire?" 
 
 "Nothing. What should I want with him? I 
 was just glad to see him again." 
 
 "Why did you turn faint?" 
 
 "It was the heat of the room." 
 
 " Come on. Take my arm. Let's go out o' this. " 
 
 The farmer's tone was very fierce. He dragged 
 Hetty's hand through his big arm, and strode away 
 so quickly that she could scarcely keep up with 
 him. 
 
 "It hurts my side," she said,- at last panting. 
 
 "You think nothing hurts but your side," said 
 the man. "There are worse aches than that." 
 
 "What do you mean, George? How queer and 
 rough you speak !" 
 
 "Maybe I know more'n you think, young 
 woman."
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 219 
 
 u Know more than I think," she said. " There's 
 nothing more to know." 
 
 "Ain't there? P'raps I've found out the reason 
 why your 'eart's been closed to me p'raps I've 
 got the key to that secret." 
 
 " Oh, George, George, you know I'd love you ef 
 I could." 
 
 " P'raps I've got the key to that secret," repeated 
 the farmer. " I'm not a bad feller not bad to look 
 at nor bad to live with and I gived yer all I got 
 but never, God above is witness, never from the day 
 I took yer to church, 'ave yer kissed me of your 
 own free will. No, nor ever said a lovin' word to 
 me the sort of words that come so glib to the lips 
 o' other young wives. You're like one who carries 
 sum'mat at her heart. Maybe I guess to-night." 
 
 " But there's nothing to guess," said Hetty. She 
 was trembling, a sick fear took possession of her. 
 
 "Ain't there? Why did you make an appoint 
 ment to meet Squire alone?" 
 
 " What in the world do you mean?" 
 
 " None o' your soft sawder, now, Hetty. I know 
 what I'm a-talking of. I crep' out of barn t'other 
 way, and I 'eard what you said." 
 
 "You heard," said Hetty, with a little scream. 
 Then she suppressed it, and gave a little hysterical 
 laugh. "You're welcome to hear," she continued. 
 "There was nothing in it." 
 
 "Worn't there? You seemed mighty eager to 
 have a meetin' with 'im; much more set on it, I 
 take it, than he wor to have a meetin' wi' you.
 
 220 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 Gents o' that sort don't care to be reminded o' the 
 follies o' their youth. I seed a big frown coming 
 up between his eyes when you wor so masterful, 
 and when you pressed and pressed to see "im. Why 
 did yer say t'was life or death? I've got my clue 
 at last, and look you 'ere, you meet Squire at your 
 peril. There, that's my last word. You under 
 stand me?"
 
 CHAPTEK XIX. 
 
 THE next day Vincent got up early. It was his 
 wont to rise betimes. Small as his farm was he 
 managed it well, superintended everything that 
 went on in it, and did, when possible, the greater 
 part of the work himself. He rose now from the 
 side of his sleeping wife, looked for a moment at 
 her fair, flower-like face, clenched his fist at a 
 memory which came over him, and then stole softly 
 out of the room. 
 
 The morning was a lovely one, warm for the time 
 of year, balmy with the full promise of spring. 
 The trees were clothed in their tenderest green ; 
 there was a faint blue mist near the horizon which 
 would pass into positive heat later on. 
 
 Vincent strode along with his hands deep in his 
 pockets. He looked like a man who was struggling 
 under a heavy weight. In truth he was ; he was 
 unaccustomed to thought, and he now had plenty 
 of that commodity to worry him. What was the 
 matter with Het? What was her secret? Did 
 Mrs. Everett's queer words mean anything or 
 nothing? Why did Het want to see the Squire? 
 Was it possible that the Squire ? The man 
 dashed out one of his great hands suddenly into 
 space.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "Drat it," he muttered, "ef I thought it I'd 
 kiU 'im." 
 
 At this moment the sound of footsteps approach 
 ing caused him to raise his head; he had drawn up 
 close to a five-barred gate. He saw a woman's 
 bonnet above the hedgerow a woman dressed in 
 black was coming in his direction she turned the 
 corner and he recognized Mrs. Everett. He stared 
 at her for a full moment without opening his lips. 
 He felt he did not like her ; a queer sensation of 
 possible danger stirred at his heart. What was she 
 doing at this hour? Vincent knew nothing of the 
 ways of women of quality ; but surely they had no 
 right to be out at this hour in the morning. 
 
 The moment Mrs. Everett saw him she quickened 
 her footsteps. No smile played round her lips, 
 but there was a look of welcome and of gratified 
 longing in her keen, dark eyes. 
 
 "I had a presentiment that I should find you," 
 she said. " I wanted to have a talk with you when 
 no one was by. Here you are, and here am I. " 
 
 "Mornin', ma'am," said Vincent awkwardly. 
 
 " Good-morning, " answered, Mrs. Everett. " The 
 day is a beautiful one," she continued; "it will be 
 hot by and by." 
 
 Vincent did not think it tiecessary to reply to 
 this. 
 
 "I'm due in the five-acre field," he said, after a 
 long pause. " I beg pardon, ma'am, but I must be 
 attending to my dooties." 
 
 "If you wish to cross that field," said Mrs.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 Everett, " I have not the least objection to accom 
 panying you." 
 
 Vincent hesitated. He glanced at the five-barred 
 gate as if he meant to vault over it, then he looked 
 at the lady ; she was standing perfectly motionless, 
 her arms hanging straight at her sides ; she came 
 a step or two nearer to him. 
 
 " Look you 'ere," he said then, suddenly. " I'm 
 a plain body a man, so to speak, of one idee. 
 There are the men yonder waitin' to fall to with 
 the spring turnips, and 'ere am I waitin' to give 
 'em orders, and 'ere you are, ma'am, waitin' to say 
 sum'mat. Now I can't attend to the men and to 
 you at the same time, so p'raps you'll speak out, 
 ma'am, and go." 
 
 "I quite understand your position," said Mrs. 
 Everett. " I would much rather speak out. I have 
 come here to say something about your wife." 
 
 "Ay," said Vincent, folding his arms, "it's 
 mighty queer what you should 'ave to say 'bout 
 Hetty." 
 
 "Not at all, for I happen to know something 
 about her." 
 
 "And what may that be?" 
 
 "I'll tell you if you will give me time to speak. 
 I told you last night who I am I am Mrs. Everett, 
 the mother of a man who has been falsely accused 
 of murder." 
 
 " Falsely !" echoed Vincent, an incredulous ex 
 pression playing round his lips. 
 
 "Yes, falsely. Don't interrupt me, please. 
 Your wife witnessed that murder."
 
 224 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 " That's true enough, and it blackened her life, 
 poor girl." 
 
 "I'm coming to that part in a minute. Your 
 wife witnessed the murder. She was very young 
 at the time. It was well known that the murdered 
 man wanted to make her his wife. It was sup 
 posed, quite falsely, but it was the universal sup 
 position, that my son was also one of her lovers. 
 This latter was not the case. It is just possible, 
 however, that she had another lover she was a 
 very pretty girl, the sort of girl who would attract 
 men in a station above her own." 
 
 Vincent's face grew black as night. 
 
 "I have my reason," continued Mrs. Everett, 
 "for supposing it possible that your wife had 
 another lover. There is, at least, not the slightest 
 doubt that the man who killed Mr. Frere did so in 
 a fit of jealousy." 
 
 "P'raps so," said Vincent. "It maybe so. I 
 loved Het then I longed to make her my wife then. 
 I'm in her own station it's best for girls like Het 
 to marry in their own station. She told me that 
 the man who was murdered wanted to make her 
 his wife, but she never loved him, that I will say." 
 
 "She may have loved the murderer." 
 
 "The man who is suffering penal servitude?" 
 cried Vincent. "Your son, ma'am? Then ef you 
 think so he'd better stay where he is he'd best 
 stay where 'e is." 
 
 "I am not talking of my son, but of the real mur 
 derer," said Mrs. Everett slowly.
 
 DJfc. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 225 
 
 Vincent stared at her. He thought she was 
 slightly off her head. 
 
 "I was in court when your son was tried," he 
 said, at last. " 'Twas a plain case. He killed his 
 man it was brought in manslaughter, worn't it? 
 And he didn't swing for it. I don't know what you i 
 mean, ma'am, an' I'd like to be away now at my 
 work." 
 
 u I have something more to say, and then I'll go. 
 I met your wife about a year ago. We met on 
 Salisbury Plain." 
 
 "Ay, she's fond o' the Plain, Hetty is." 
 
 " I told her then what I now tell you. She fell 
 on her knees in terror she clasped my dress, and 
 asked me how I had found out. Then she recovered 
 herself, tried to eat her own words, and left me. 
 Since then she has avoided me. It was the sight 
 of me last night that made your wife turn faint. 
 I repeat that she carries a secret. If that secret 
 were known it might clear my son. I want to find 
 it out. If you will help me and if we succeed, I'll 
 give you a thousand pounds." 
 
 " 'Taint to be done, ma'am," said Vincent. " Het 
 is nervous, and a bit given to the hysterics, but she 
 knows no more 'bout that murder than all the rest 
 of the world knows; and what's more, I wouldn't 
 take no money to probe at my wife's heart. Good- 
 mornin', ma'am, I must be attending to my tur 
 nips." 
 
 Vincent vaulted the five-barred gate as he spoke, 
 and walked across the field.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 Mrs. Everett watched him until he was out of 
 sight. Then she turned slowly, and went back to 
 the Court. She entered the grounds a little before 
 the breakfast hour. Ann, now Mrs. Henessey, was 
 out in the avenue gathering daffodils, which grew 
 in clumps all along a great border. She raised her 
 head when she saw Mrs. Everett approaching. 
 
 "You out?" she cried. "I thought I was the 
 only early bird. Where have you been?" 
 
 Tor a walk," replied the widow. "The morn 
 ing is a lovely one, and I was not sleepy." She did 
 not wait to say anything more to Ann, but went 
 into the house. 
 
 The breakfast-room at the Court had French 
 windows. The day was so balmy that, early as it 
 was still in the year, these windows stood open. 
 As Mrs. Everett stepped across the threshold, she 
 was greeted by Margaret. 
 
 " How pale and tired you look !" said Mrs. Aw- 
 drey, in a compassionate voice. 
 
 Mrs. Everett glanced round her, she saw that 
 there was no one else present. 
 
 "I am sick at heart, Margaret," she said, fixing 
 her sad eyes on her friend's face. 
 
 Margaret went up to her, put her slender hand 
 on her shoulder, and kissed her. 
 
 "Why won't you rest?" she said; "you never 
 rest; even at night you scarcely sleep; you will 
 kill yourself if you go on as you have been doing 
 of late, and then 
 
 " Why do you stop, Margaret?" said Mrs. Everett.
 
 D&. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 22? 
 
 "When lie comes out you won't be there," said 
 Margaret tears brimming into her eyes. " I often 
 see the meeting between you and him," she con 
 tinued. "When he comes out; when it is all over; 
 he won't be old, as men go, and he'll want you. 
 Try and think of the very worst that can happen 
 his innocence never being proved; even at the 
 worst he'll want you sorely when he is a free man 
 again." 
 
 " He won't have me. I shall be dead long, long 
 before then; but I must prove his innocence. I 
 have an indescribable sensation that I am near the 
 truth while I am here, and that is why I came. 
 Margaret, my heart in on fire the burning of that 
 fire consumes me." 
 
 At this moment the Squire entered the room ; he 
 looked bright, fresh, alert, and young. He was 
 now a man of extremely rapid movements ; he came 
 up to Mrs. Everett and shook hands with her. 
 
 "You have your bonnet on," he said. 
 
 "Yes, I have been out for a walk," she replied. 
 
 "And she has come in dead tired," said Marga 
 ret, glancing at her husband. "Please go to your 
 room now, Mrs. Everett," she continued, " and take 
 off your things. We are just going to breakfast, 
 and I shall insist on your taking a good meal. " 
 
 Mrs. Everett turned toward the door. When 
 she had left the room Margaret approached her 
 husband's side. 
 
 "I do believe she is right," she cried suddenly; 
 " I believe her grief will kill her in the end."
 
 RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "Whose grief, dearest?" asked Awdrey, in an 
 absent-minded manner. 
 
 " Whose grief, Kobert? Don't you know? Mrs. 
 Everett's grief. Can't you see for yourself how 
 she frets, how she wastes away? Have you no 
 eyes for her? In your own marvellous resurrection 
 ought you, ought either of us, to forget one who 
 suffers so sorely?" 
 
 "I never forget," said Awdrey. He spoke 
 abruptly ; he had turned his back on his wife ; a 
 picture which was hanging slightly awry needed 
 straightening ; he went up to it. Ann came in at 
 the open window. 
 
 "What possesses all you women to be out at 
 cockcrow in this fashion?" said her brother, sub 
 mitting to her embrace rather than returning it. 
 
 Ann laughed gleefully. 
 
 "It's close on nine o'clock," she replied; "here 
 are some daffodils for you, Margaret" she laid a 
 great bunch by Mrs. Awdrey 's plate. "You have 
 quite forgotten your country manners, Robert; in 
 the old days breakfast was long over at nine 
 o'clock." 
 
 " Well, let us come to table now," said th& Squire. 
 
 The rest of the party trooped in by degrees. 
 Mrs. Everett was the last to appear. Awdrey 
 pulled out a chair near himself; she dropped into 
 it. He began to attend to her wants ; then entered 
 into conversation with her. He talked well, like 
 the man of keen intelligence and education he really 
 was. As he spoke the widow kept watching him
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 229' 
 
 with her bright, restless eyes. He never avoided 
 her glance. His own eyes, steady and calm in their 
 expression, met hers constantly. Toward the end 
 of breakfast the two pairs of eyes seemed to chal 
 lenge each other. Mrs. Everett's grew fuller than 
 ever of puzzled inquiry; Awdrey's of a queer defi 
 ance. In the end she looked away with a sigh. 
 He was stronger than she was ; her spirit recognized 
 this fact ; it also began to be dimly aware of the 
 truth that he was her enemy. 
 
 The Squire rose suddenly from his seat and 
 addressed his wife. 
 
 "I've just seen Griffiths pass the window," he 
 said. "I'm going out now; don't expect me to 
 lunch."
 
 CHAPTEK XX. 
 
 ABOUT an hour after her husband had left her, 
 Hetty Vincent awoke. She rubbed her eyes, sat 
 up in bed, and after a moment's reflection began to 
 dress. She was downstairs, bustling about as usual, 
 just as the eight-day clock struck seven. Hetty 
 attended to the household work itself, but there 
 was a maid to help her with the dairy, to milk the 
 cows, and undertake the heavy part of the work. 
 The girl's name was Susan. Hetty and she went 
 into the dairy as usual now and began to perform 
 thoir morning duties. 
 
 There were several cows kept on the farm, and 
 the Vincents largely lived on the dairy produce. 
 Their milk and butter and cream were famous in 
 the district. The great pails of foaming milk were 
 now being brought in by Susan and the man Dan, 
 md the different pans quickly filled. 
 
 The morning's milk being" set, Hetty began to 
 jkim the pans which were ready from the previous 
 light. As she did so she put the cream at once 
 into the churn, and Susan prepared to make the 
 butter. 
 
 "Hold a bit, ma'am," she said suddenly, "we 
 never scalded out this churn properly, and the last 
 butter had a queer taste, don't you remember?"
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 331 
 
 "Of course I do," said Hetty, "how provoking; 
 all that cream is wasted then." 
 
 "I don't think so," answered Susan. "If we 
 pour it out at once it won't get the taste. Please 
 hold that basin for me, ma'am, and I'll empty the 
 cream that is in the churn straight into it." 
 
 Hetty did so. 
 
 Susan set the churn down again on the floor. 
 
 " If you'll give me that stuff in the bottle, ma'am,** 
 she said, "which you keep in the cupboard, I'll 
 mix some of it with boiling water and wash out the 
 churn, and it'll be as sweet as a nut immediately." 
 
 "The water is already boiling in the copper," 
 said Hetty. 
 
 The girl went off to fill a large jug with some, 
 and Hetty unlocked the cupboard from which she 
 had taken the bottle of laudanum the night before. 
 The chemical preparation required for sweetening 
 the churn should have stood close to the laudanum 
 bottle. It was noc there, and Susan, who was anx 
 ious to begin her work, fetched a stepladder and 
 mounting it began to search through the contents 
 of the cupboard. 
 
 "I can't find the bottle," she cried, "but lor! 
 ma'am, what is this black stuff? It looks sum'mat 
 like treacle." 
 
 " No, it is not; let it alone," said Hetty in alarm. 
 
 "I don't want to touch it, I'm sure," replied 
 Susan. "It's got a good big 'poison' marked on 
 it, and I'm awful frightened of that sort o' thing." 
 
 "It's toothache cure," said Hetty. "Ef you
 
 233 DR. ItUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 swallowed a good lot of it it 'ud kill you, but it'a 
 a splendid thing to put on cotton-wool and stuff 
 into your tooth if it aches badly. Just you step 
 down from the ladder, and I'll have a look for the 
 bottle we want, Susan." 
 
 The bottle was nowhere to be found in the cup 
 board but was presently discovered in another 
 corner of the dairy ; the morning's work then went 
 on without a hitch. 
 
 At his accustomed hour Yincent came in to break 
 fast. He looked moody and depressed. As he ate 
 he glanced many times at Hetty, but did not vouch 
 safe a single word to her. 
 
 She was in the mood to be agreeable to him and 
 she put on her most fascinating airs for his benefit. 
 Once as she passed his chair she laid her small 
 hand with a caressing movement on his shoulder. 
 The man longed indescribably to seize the little 
 hand and press its owner to his hungry heart, but 
 lie restrained himself. Mrs. Everett's words were 
 ringing in his ear: "Your wife holds a secret." 
 
 Hetty presently sat down opposite to him. The 
 sunshine was now streaming full into the cheerful 
 farm kitchen, and some of its rays fell across her 
 face. What a lovely face it was; pale, it is true, 
 and somewhat worn, but what pathetic eyes, so 
 dark so velvety ; what a dear rosebud mouth, what 
 an arch and yet sad expression 1 
 
 "She beats every other woman holler," muttered 
 the man to himself. "It's my belief that ef it 
 wom't for that secret she'd love me. Yes, it must
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 233 
 
 be true, she holds a secret, and it's a-killing of her. 
 She ain't what she wor when we married. I'll get 
 that secret out o* her; but not for no thousand 
 pounds, 'andy as it 'ud be." 
 
 "Hetty," he said suddenly. 
 
 "What in the world is the matter with yon, 
 George? You look so moody," said Hetty. 
 
 "Well, now, I may as well return the compli 
 ment," he replied, "so do you." 
 
 "Oh, I'm all right," she answered, with a pert 
 toss of her head. "Maybe, George," she con 
 tinued, " you're bilious ; you ate summat that dis 
 agreed wi* you last night." 
 
 "Yes, I did," he replied fiercely. "I swallered 
 a powerful lot o* jealousy, and it's bad food and 
 hard to digest." 
 
 "Jealousy?" she answered, bridling, and her 
 cheeks growing a deep rose. ** Now what should 
 make you jealous?" 
 
 "You make me jealous, my girl," he answered. 
 
 "I ! what in the world did I do?" 
 
 " You talked to Squire you wor mad to see 'im. 
 Het, you've got a secret, and you may as well out 
 wi' it." 
 
 The imminence of the danger made Hetty quite 
 cool and almost brave. She uttered a light laugh, 
 and bent forward to help herself to some more 
 butter. 
 
 " You must be crazy to have thoughts o* thai 
 sort, George," she said. "Ain't I been your wife 
 for five years, and isn't it likely that ef I liad a
 
 234 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 secret you'd have discovered it, sharp feller as yon 
 are? No, I was pleased to see Squire. I was 
 always fond o' 'im ; and I ain't got no secret ex 
 cept the pain in my side." 
 
 She turned very pale as she uttered the last 
 words and pressed her hand to the neighborhood 
 of her heart. 
 
 Vincent was at once all tenderness and concern. 
 
 "I'm a brute to worry yer, my little gell," he 
 said. "Secret or no secret, you're all I 'as got. 
 It's jest this way, Het, ef you'd love me a bit, I 
 wouldn't mind ef you had fifty secrets, but it's the 
 feelin' that you don't love me, mad as I be about 
 you, that drives me starkj staring wild at times." 
 
 " I'll try hard to love you ef you wish it, George," 
 she said. 
 
 He left his seat and came toward her. The 
 next moment he had folded her in his arms. She 
 shivered under his embrace, but submitted. 
 
 "Now that's better," he said. "Tryin' means 
 succeeding 'cording to my way o' thinking of it. 
 But you don't look a bit well, Het; you change 
 color too often red one minute, white the next 
 you mustn't do no sort o' workjthis morning. Yon 
 jest put your feet up this minute on the settle and 
 I'll fetch that novel you're so took up with. Tou 
 like readin', don't yer, lass?" 
 
 "At times I do," said Hetty, "but I ain't in the 
 mood to read to-day, and there's a heap to be done.* J 
 
 "You're not to do it; Susan will manage." 
 
 "George, she can't; she's got the dairy."
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 235 
 
 "Dan shall manage the dairy. He's worth two 
 Susans, and Susan can attend to the housework. 
 Now you lie still where I've put you and read your 
 novel. I'll be in to dinner at twelve o'clock, as 
 usual, and ef you don't look more spry by then I'll 
 go and fetch Dr. Martin, that I will." 
 
 "I wouldn't see him for the world," said Hetty 
 in alarm. " Well, I'll stay quiet ef you wish me to. " 
 
 The rest of the morning passed quickly. Until 
 her husband was quite out of sight Hetty remained 
 on the settle in the cosy kitchen ; then she went up 
 to her room, and taking a hat out of the cupboard 
 began to pull it about and to re-arrange the trim 
 ming. She put it on once or twice to see if it be 
 came her. It was a pretty hat, made of white straw 
 with a broad low brim. It was trimmed simply 
 with a broad band of colored ribbon. On Hetty's 
 charming head it had a rustic effect, and suited her 
 particular form of beauty. 
 
 "It don't matter what I wear," she murmured to 
 herself. * 'Taint looks I'm a- thinking of now, but 
 I may as well look my best when I go to him. 
 Once he thought me pretty. That awful evening 
 down by the brook when I gathered the forget-me- 
 nots I saw his thought in his eyes then he 
 thought well of me then. Maybe he will again this 
 evening. Anyhow I'll wear the hat." 
 
 At dinner time Hetty once more resumed the role 
 of an invalid, and Yincent was charmed to find her 
 reclining on the settle and pretending to read the 
 yellow-backed novel.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "Here's a brace of young pigeons," he said; "I 
 shot 'em an hour ago. You shall have 'em cooked 
 up tasty for supper. You want fattening and coax 
 ing a bit. Ah, dinner ready; just what I like, 
 corned beef and cabbage. I am hungry and no 
 mistake." 
 
 Susan had now left the house to return to her 
 ordinary duties, and the husband and wife were 
 alone. Hetty declared herself much better ; in fact, 
 quite well. She drew her chair close to Vincent, 
 and talked to him while he ate. 
 
 "Now I call this real cosy," he said. "Ef you 
 try a bit harder you'll soon do the real thing, Het; 
 you'll love me for myself." 
 
 " Seems like it, " answered Hetty. " George, you 
 don't mind my going down to see aunt this after 
 noon, do you?" 
 
 She brought out her words coolly, but Vincent's 
 suspicions were instantly aroused. 
 
 " Turn round and look at me," he said. 
 
 She did so bravely. 
 
 "You don't go outside the farm to-day, and 
 that's flat," he said. "We won't argufy on that 
 poii*t any more; you stop at 'ome to-day. Ef 
 you're a good girl and try to please me I'll harness 
 the horse to the gig this evening, and take yer for 
 a bit of a drive." 
 
 "I'd like that,** answered Hetty submissively. 
 She bent down as she spoke to pick up a piece of 
 bread. She knew perfectly well that Vincent would 
 not allow her to keep her appointment with the
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 23? 
 
 Squire. But that appointment must be kept; if in 
 no other way, by guile. 
 
 Hetty thought and thought. She was too excited 
 to do little more than pick her food, and Vincent 
 showered attentions and affectionate words upon 
 her. At last he rose from his seat. 
 
 " Well, I've 'ad a hearty meal," he cried. Til 
 be in again about four o'clock; you might have a 
 cup o* tea ready for me." 
 
 "No, I won't," said Hetty; "tea is bad for you; 
 you're up so early, and you're dead for sleep, and 
 it's sleep you ought to have. You come home 
 about four, and I'll give you a glass o' stout." 
 
 "Stout?" said the farmer he was particularly 
 partial to that beverage " I didn't know there was 
 any stout in the house," he continued. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, laughing gayly, "the little 
 cask which we didn't open at Christmas ; it's in the 
 pantry, and you shall have a foaming glass when 
 you come in at four; go off now, George, and I'll 
 have it ready for you." 
 
 "All right," he said; "why, you're turning into 
 a model wife ; quite anxious about me at least, it 
 seems like it. Well, I'll turn up for my stout, 
 more particular ef you'll give me a kiss along 
 wi' it." 
 
 He went away, and Hetty watched him as he 
 crossed the farmyard ; her cheeks were flushed, and 
 her heart beat high. She had made up her mind. 
 She would drug the stout. 
 
 Vincent was neither a lazy nor a sleepy man; ha
 
 238 J)R. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 worked bard from early morning until late at night, 
 indulging in no excesses of any kind, and preferring 
 tea as a rule to any other beverage ; but stout, good 
 stout, such as Hetty had in the little cask, was his 
 one weakness; he did like a big draught of that. 
 
 "He shall have a sleep," said Hetty to herself. 
 a It'll do him a power of good. The first time I 
 swallered a few drops of aunt's toothache cure I 
 slept for eight hours without moving. Lor ! how 
 bad I felt afore I went off, and how nice and 
 soothed when I awoke. Seemed as if I couldn't be 
 cross for ever so long. George shall sleep while 
 I'm away. I'll put some of the nice black stuff in 
 his stout the stuff that gives dreams he'll have 
 a long rest, and I can go and return and he'll never 
 know nothing about it." 
 
 She made all her preparations with promptitude 
 and cunning. First, she opened the cask, and 
 threw away the first glass she drew from it. She 
 then tasted the beverage, which turned out, as she 
 expected it would, to be of excellent quality. Hetty 
 saw in imagination her husband draining off one 
 or two glasses. Presently she heard his step in the 
 passage, and ran quickly to the pantry where the 
 stout was kept, concealing the little bottle of lauda 
 num in her pocket. She poured what she thought 
 a small but safe dose into the jug, and then filled it 
 up with stout. Her face was flushed, and her eyes 
 very bright, when she appeared in the kitchen with 
 the jug and glass on a tray. Vincent was hot and 
 dead tired. 

 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 239 
 
 * Here you are, little woman," lie cried. "Why, 
 if you ain't a sort o' ministering angel, Idon'tknow 
 who is. Well, I'm quite ready for that ere drink 
 o' your'n." 
 
 Hetty filled his glass to the brim. It frothed 
 slightly, and looked, as Vincent expressed it, prime. 
 He raised it to his lips, drained it to the dregs, and 
 returned it to her. She filled it again. 
 
 "Come, come," he said, smiling, and half -wink 
 ing at her, and then casting a longing glance at the 
 stout, "ain't two glasses o'er much." 
 
 "Not a bit of it," she answered. "You're to go 
 to sleep, you know." 
 
 "Well, p'raps I can spare an hour,^and I am a 
 bit drowsy." 
 
 " You're to lie right down on the settle, and go 
 off to sleep. I'll wake you when it is time." 
 
 He drank off another glass. 
 
 "You won't run away to that aunt o* your'n 
 while I'm drowsing?" he said. 
 
 "No," she replied. "I would not do a shabby 
 sort of trick like that." 
 
 He took her hand in his, and a moment later had 
 closed his eyes. Once or twice he opened them to 
 gaze fondly at her, but presently the great, roughly 
 hewn face settled down into repose. Hetty bent 
 over him, laid her cheek against his, and felt his 
 forehead. He never stirred. She then listened to 
 his breathing, which was perfectly quiet and light. 
 
 "He's gone off like a baby. That's wonderful 
 stuff in aunt's bottle," muttered Hetty. Finally,
 
 240 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 she threw a shawl of her own over him, drew down 
 the blind of the nearest window, and went on tiptoe 
 out of the kitchen. 
 
 * He'll sleep for hours. I did," she said to her 
 self. 
 
 She put the little bottle back into its place in the 
 dairy and moved softly about the house. She was 
 to meet the Squire at six. It was now five o'clock. 
 It would take her the best part of an hour to walk 
 to the Court. She went up to her room, put on her 
 hat, and as she was leaving the house, once again 
 entered the kitchen. Vincent's face was pale now 
 he was in a dead slumber. She heard his breath 
 ing, a little quick and stertorous, but he was always 
 a heavy breather, and she thought nothing about 
 it. She left the house smiling to herself at the 
 clever trick she had played on her husband. She 
 was going to meet the Squire now. Her heart beat 
 with rapture.
 
 CHAPTEE 
 
 AWDBEY'S cure was complete ; he had passed right 
 through the doom of his house, and got out on the 
 other side. He was the first man of his race who 
 had ever done that; the others had forgotten as he 
 forgot, and had pined, and dwindled, and slipped 
 and slipped lower and lower down in the scale of life 
 until at last they had dropped over the brink into the 
 Unknown beyond. Awdrey 's downward career had 
 been stopped just in time. His recovery had been 
 quite as marvellous as his complaint. When he 
 saw his own face reflected in the pond on Salisbury 
 Plain the cloud had risen from his brain and he re 
 membered what he had done. In that instant his 
 mental sky grew clear and light. He himself had 
 murdered Horace Frere ; he had not done it inten 
 tionally, but he had done it; another man was suf 
 fering in his stead ; he himself was the murderer. 
 He knew this absolutely, completely, clearly, but 
 at first he felt no mental pain of any sort. A natural 
 instinct made him desirous to keep his knowledge 
 to himself, but his conscience sat light within him, 
 and did not speak at all. He was now anxious to 
 conceal his emotions from the doctor; his mind 
 had completely recovered its balance, and he found
 
 242 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 this possible. Bumsey was as fully astonished at 
 the cure as he had been at the disease ; he accoro 
 panied Awdrey back to London next day, and told 
 Margaret what a marvellous thing had occurred. 
 Awdrey remembered all about his son ; he was f ul] 
 of grief for his loss ; he was kind and loving to his 
 wife ; he was no longer morose ; no longer sullen 
 and apathetic; in short, his mental and physical 
 parts were once again wide awake ; but the strange 
 and almost inexplicable thing in his cure was that 
 his moral part still completely slumbered. This 
 fact undoubtedly did much to establish his mental 
 and physical health, giving him time to recover his 
 lost ground. 
 
 Bumsey did not profess to understand the case, 
 but now that Awdrey had quite come back from the 
 borderland of insanity, he advised that ordinary 
 remedies should immediately be resorted to ; he told 
 Margaret that in a few months her husband would 
 be as fully and completely able to attend to the du 
 ties of life as any other man of his day and station. 
 He did not believe, he said, that the strange attack 
 through which Awdrey had passed was ever likely 
 to return to him ! Margaret and her husband shut 
 up their house in town, and" went abroad; they 
 spent the winter on the continent, and day by day 
 Awdrey 's condition, both physical and mental, 
 became more satisfactory. He slept well, he ate 
 well; soon he began to devour books and news 
 papers; to absorb himself in the events of the day; 
 to take a keen interest in politics; the member for
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 243 
 
 Grandcourt died, and Awdrey put up for the con 
 stituency. He was obliged to return suddenly to 
 England on this account, and to Margaret's delight 
 elected to come back at once to live at the Court. 
 The whole thing was arranged quickly. Awdrey 
 was to be nominated as the new candidate for 
 Grandcourt; he was to have, too, his rightful posi 
 tion as the Squire on his own property. Friends 
 from all round the country rejoiced in his recovery, 
 as they had sincerely mourned over his strange and 
 inexplicable illness. He was welcomed with re 
 joicing, and came back something as a king would 
 to take possession of his kingdom. 
 
 On the night therefore, that he returned to the 
 Court, the higher part of his being began to stir 
 uneasily within him. He had quite agreed to Mar 
 garet's desire to invite Mrs. Everett to meet them 
 on their return, but he read a certain expression in 
 the widow's sad eyes, and a certain look on Hetty's 
 face, which stirred into active remorse the con 
 science which had suffered more severely than any 
 thing else in the ordeal through which he had 
 lived. It was now awake within him, and its voice 
 was very poignant and keen; its notes were clear, 
 sharp, and unremitting. 
 
 In his excellent physical and mental health his 
 first impulse was to defy the voice of conscience, 
 and to live down the deed he had committed. His 
 first wish was to hide its knowledge from all the 
 world, and to go down to his own grave in the 
 course of time with his secret unconf essed. He did 

 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 not believe it possible, at least at first, that the 
 moral voice within could not be easily silenced; 
 but even on the first night of his awakening he was 
 conscious of a change in himself. The sense of 
 satisfaction, of complete enjoyment in life and all 
 its surroundings which had hitherto done so much 
 for his recovery, was now absent; he was conscious, 
 intensely conscious, of his own hypocrisy, and he 
 began vehemently to hate and detest himself. All 
 the same, his wish was to hide the thing, to allow 
 Mrs. Everett to go down to the grave with a broken 
 heart to allow Everett to drink the cup of suffering 
 and dishonor to the dregs. 
 
 Awdrey slept little during the first night of his 
 return home. In the morning he arose to the full 
 fact that he must either carry a terrible secret to 
 his grave, or must confess all and bear the punish 
 ment which was now awarded to another. His 
 strong determination on that first morning was to 
 keep his secret. He went downstairs, putting a 
 full guard upon himself. Margaret saw nothing 
 amiss with him his face was full of alertness, keen 
 ness, interest in life, interest in his fellow-creatures. 
 Only Mrs. Everett, at breakfast that morning, with 
 out understanding it, read the defiance, the veileql 
 meaning in his eyes. He went away presently, 
 and spent the day in going about his property, see 
 ing his constituents, and arranging the different 
 steps he must take to insure his return at the head 
 of the poll. As he went from house to house, how- 
 ever, the new knowledge which he now possessed
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 245 
 
 of himself kept following him. On all hands he 
 was being welcomed and rejoiced over, but he knew 
 in his heart of hearts he was a hypocrite of the 
 basest and lowest type. He was allowing another 
 man to suffer in his stead. That was the cruellest 
 stab of all ; it was that which harassed him, for it 
 was contrary to all the traditions of his house and 
 name. His mental health was now so perfect that 
 he was able to see with a wonderfully clear percep 
 tion what would happen to himself if he refused to 
 listen to the voice of conscience. In the past, while 
 the cloud was over his brain, he had undergone 
 terrible mental and physical deterioration; he 
 would now undergo moral deterioration. The time 
 might come when conscience would cease to trouble 
 him, but then, as far as his soul was concerned, he 
 would be lost. He knew all this, and hated him 
 self profoundly, nevertheless his determination 
 grew stronger and stronger to guard his secret at 
 all hazards. The possibility that the truth might 
 out, notwithstanding all his efforts to conceal it, 
 had not occurred to him, to add to his anxie 
 ties. 
 
 The day, a lovely one in late spring, had been 
 one long triumph. Awdrey was assured that his 
 election was a foregone conclusion. He tried to 
 think of himself in the House ; he was aware of the 
 keenness and freshness of his own intellect; he 
 thought it quite possible that his name might be a 
 power in the future government of England. He 
 folly intended to take his rightful position, For
 
 246 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 generations men of his name and family had sat in 
 the House and done good work there men of his 
 name and family had also fought for their country 
 both on land and sea. Yes, it was his bounden 
 duty now to live for the honor of the old name ; 
 to throw up the sponge now, to admit all now 
 would be madness the worst folly of which a man 
 could be capable. It was his duty to think of Mar 
 garet, to think of his property, his tenants, all that 
 was involved in his own life. 
 
 Everett and Mrs. Everett would assuredly suffer; 
 but what of that if many others were saved from 
 suffering? Yes, it was his bounden duty to live 
 now for the honor of the old name; he had also 
 his descendants to think of. True his child was 
 gone, but other children would in all probability 
 yet be his he must think of them. Yes, the 
 future lay before him ; he must carry the burden 
 of that awful secret, and he would carry it so close 
 ly pressed to his innermost heart that no one should 
 guess by look, word, manner, by a gloomy eye, by 
 an unsmiling lip, that its weight was on him. He 
 would be gay, he would be brave, he would banish 
 grief, he would try to banish remorse, he would 
 live his life as best he could. 
 
 "I must pay the cost some day," he muttered to 
 himself. " I put off the payment, and that is best. 
 There is a tribunal, at the bar of which I shall 
 doubtless receive full sentence ; but that is all in 
 the *uture ; I accept the penalty ; I will reap the 
 wages by and by. Yes, I'll keep my secret to the
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 24? 
 
 death. The girl, Hetty, knows about it, but she 
 must be silenced." 
 
 Awdrey rode quickly home in the sweet fresh 
 ness of the lovely spring evening. He remembered 
 that he was to meet Hetty ; the meeting would be 
 difficult and also of some importance, but he would 
 be guarded, he would manage to silence her, to 
 quiet her evident fears. Hetty warf a guileless, 
 affectionate, and pretty girl; she had been wonder 
 fully true to him ; he must be good to her, for she 
 had suffered for his sake. It would be best to 
 make an excuse to send Hetty and her husband to 
 Canada; Vincent, who was a poor man, would 
 doubtless be glad to emigrate with good prospects. 
 Tes, they must go ; it would be unpleasant meeting 
 Hetty, knowing what she knew. Mrs. Everett must 
 also not again be his guest ; her presence irritated 
 him, he disliked meeting her eyes; and yet he 
 knew that while she was in the house he dared not 
 shirk their glance ; her presence and the knowledge 
 that her pain was killing her made the sharp voice 
 within him speak more loudly than he could quite 
 bear. Yes, Mrs. Everett must go, and Hetty must 
 go, and what was this memory which made him 
 draw up his horse abruptly? his lost walking- 
 stick. Ridiculous that such a trifle should worry a 
 man all through his life ; how it had haunted him 
 all during the six years when the cloud was over his 
 brain. Even now the memory of it came up again 
 to torment him. He had murdered his man with 
 that stick; the whole thing was the purest accident,
 
 848 Dfl. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 but that did not greatly matter, for the man had 
 died; the ferrule of Awdrey's stick had entered his 
 brain, causing instant death. 
 
 "Afterward I hid it away in the underwood," 
 thought Awdrey. "I wonder where it is now 
 doubtless still there but some day that part of the 
 underwood may be cut down and the stick may be 
 found. It might tell tales, I must find it." 
 
 He jogged his horse, and rode slowly home 
 under the arching trees of the long avenue. He 
 had a -good view of the long, low, rambling house 
 there how sweet it looked, how homelike! But 
 for this secret what a happy man he would be to 
 night. Ah, who was that standing at his office 
 door? He started and hastened his horse's steps. 
 Hetty Vincent was already there waiting for 
 him. 
 
 "I must speak to her at once," he said to him 
 self. "I hope no one will see her; it would never 
 do for the people to think she was coming after me. 
 This will be a disagreeable interview and must be 
 got over quickly." 
 
 The Squire rode round the part of the avenue 
 which led directly past the front of the long house. 
 His wife, sisters, and Mrs." Everett were all seated 
 near the large window. They were drinking tea 
 and talking. Margaret's elbow rested upon the 
 window-ledge. She wore a silk dress of the softest 
 gray. Her lovely face showed in full profile. Sud 
 denly she heard the sound of his horse's steps and 
 turned round to greet him.
 
 DR. RUHSEY'S PATIENT. 249 
 
 "There you are; we are waiting for you,** she 
 called out. 
 
 " Come in, Robert, and have a cup, " called out 
 Dorothy, putting her head out of the window. 
 
 Dorothy was his favorite sister. Under other 
 circumstances he would have sprung from his horse, 
 given it to the charge of a groom who stood near, 
 and joined his wife and friends. Now he called 
 back in a clear, incisive voice : 
 
 " I have to attend to some business at my office, 
 and will be in presently. Here, Davies, take my 
 horse." 
 
 The man hurried forward and Awdrey strode 
 round to the side entrance where his office was. 
 
 Hetty, looking flushed and pretty in her rustic 
 hat with a bunch of cowslips pinned into the front 
 of her jacket, stood waiting for him. 
 
 Awdrey took a key out of his pocket. The office 
 had no direct communication with the house, but 
 was always entered from outside. He unlocked 
 the door and motioned Hetty to precede him into 
 the room. She did so, he entered after her, locked 
 the door, and put the key into his pocket. The 
 next thing he did was to look at the windows. 
 There were three large windows to the office, and 
 they all faced on to a grass lawn outside. Any one 
 passing by could have distinctly seen the occupants 
 of the room. 
 
 Awdrey went and deliberately pulled down one 
 of the blinds. 
 
 "Come over here," he said to Hetty. "Take
 
 250 DR fiUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 this chair." He took another himself at a little 
 distance from her. So seated his face was in 
 shadow, but the full light of the westering sun fell 
 across hers. It lit up her bright eyes until they 
 shone like jewels, and gave a bronze hue to her 
 dark hair. The flush on her cheeks was of the 
 damask of the rose; her brow and the rest of her 
 face was milky white. 
 
 Long ago, as a young man, Awdrey had ad 
 mired Hetty's real beauty, but no thought other 
 than that of simple admiration had entered his 
 brain. His was not the nature to be really at 
 tracted by a woman below himself in station. 
 Now, however, his pulse beat a little faster than 
 its wont as he glanced at her. He remembered with 
 a swift, poignant sense of regret all that she had 
 done for him and suffered for him. He could see 
 traces of the trouble through which she had lived 
 in her face ; that trouble and her present anxiety 
 gave a piquancy to her beauty which differentiated 
 it widely from the ordinary beauty of the rustic 
 village girl. As he watched her he forgot for a 
 moment what she had come to speak to him about. 
 Then he remembered it, .and he drew himself 
 together, but a pang shot through his heart. He 
 thought of the small deceit which he was guilty of 
 in drawing down the blind and placing himself and 
 nis auditor where no one from the outside could 
 observe them. 
 
 "You want to speak to me," he said abruptly. 
 "What about?"
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 251 
 
 "You must know, Mr. Robert," began Hetty. 
 Her coral lips trembled, she looked like some one 
 who would break down into hysterical weeping at 
 any moment. 
 
 "This must be put a stop to," Awdrey bestowed 
 another swift glance upon her, and took her meas 
 ure. "I cannot pretend ignorance," he said, "but 
 please try not to lose your self-control." 
 
 Hetty gulped down a great sob; the tears in her 
 eyes were not allowed to fall. 
 
 "Then you remember?" she said. 
 
 Awdrey nodded. 
 
 " You remember everything, Mr. Robert?" 
 
 Awdrey nodded again. 
 
 "But you forgot at the time, sir." 
 
 Awdrey stood up ; he put his hands behind him. 
 
 "I forgot absolutely," he said. "I suffered 
 from the doom of my house. A cloud fell on me, 
 and I knew no more than a babe unborn." 
 
 u I guessed that, sir ; I was certain of it. That 
 was why I took your part." 
 
 Awdrey waited until she was silent. Then he 
 continued in a monotonous, strained tone. 
 
 u I have found my memory again. Four or five 
 months ago at the beginning of this winter I came 
 here. I visited the spot where the murder was 
 committed, and owing to a chain of remarkable 
 circumstances, which I need not repeat to you, the 
 memory of my deed came back to me." 
 
 * You killed him, sir, because he provoked you," 
 said Hetty.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 " You were present and you saw everything?** 
 
 a I was, sir, I saw everything. You killed him 
 because he provoked you." 
 
 "I killed him through an accident. I did so in 
 self-defence." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Hetty also stood up. She sighed deeply. 
 
 "The knowledge of it has nearly killed me," 
 she said at last, sinking back again into her seat. 
 
 "I am not surprised at that," said the Squire. 
 ** You did what you did out of consideration for 
 me, and I suppose I ought to be deeply indebted 
 to you" he paused and looked fixedly at her 
 "all the same," he continued, "I fully believe it 
 would have been much better had you not sworn 
 falsely in court had you not given wrong evi 
 dence." 
 
 "Did you think I'd let you swing for it?" said 
 the girl with flashing eyes. 
 
 "I should probably not have swung for it, as you 
 express it. You could have proved that the as 
 sault was unprovoked, and that I did what I did 
 in self-defence. I wish you had not concealed the 
 truth at the time." 
 
 "Sir, is that all the thanks you- give me? You 
 do not know what this has been to me. Aunt 
 Fanny and I " 
 
 "Does your aunt, Mrs. Armitage, know the 
 truth?" 
 
 "I had to tell Aunt Fanny or I'd have gone mad, 
 Sir. She and me, we swore on the Bible that we
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 253 
 
 would never tell mortal man or woman what I 
 saw done. You're as safe with Aunt Fanny and 
 me, Mr. Robert, as if no one in all the world knew. 
 You were one of the Family that was enough for 
 
 aunt and you was to me " she paused, colored, 
 
 and looked down. Then she continued abruptly, 
 " Mr. Everett was nothing, nothing to me, nothing 
 to aunt. He was a stranger, not one of our own 
 people. Aunt Fanny kept me up to it, and I didn't 
 make one single mistake in court, and not a soul in 
 all the world guesses." 
 
 "One person suspects," said Awdrey. 
 
 B You mean Mrs. Everett, sir. Yes, Mrs. Everett 
 is a dreadful woman. She frightens me. She 
 seems to read right through my heart." 
 
 The Squire did not reply. He began to pace up 
 and down in the part of the room which was lying 
 in shadow. Hetty watched him with eyes which 
 seemed to devour him his upright figure was 
 slightly bent, his bowed head had lost its look of 
 youth and alertness. He found that conscience 
 could be troublesome to the point of agony. If it 
 spoke like this often and for long could he endure 
 the frightful strain? There was a way in which 
 he could silence it. There was a path of thorns 
 which his feet might tread. Could they tke it? 
 That path would lead to the complete martyrdom, 
 the absolute ruin of his own life. But life, after 
 all, was short, and there was a beyond. Margaret 
 what would Margaret feel? How would she bear 
 the awful shock. He knew then, a flash of thought
 
 254 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 convinced him, that he must never tell Margaret 
 the truth if he wished to keep this ghastly thing to 
 himself, for Margaret would rather go through the 
 martyrdom which it all meant, and set his con 
 science and her own free. 
 
 Awdrey looked again at Hetty. She was ghastly 
 pale, her eyes were almost wild with fear she 
 seemed to be reading some of his thoughts. All 
 of a sudden her outward calm gave way, she left 
 her seat and fell on her knees her voice rose in 
 sobs. 
 
 a l know what you're thinking of,** she cried. 
 " You think you'll tell you think you'll save him 
 and save her, but for God's sake " 
 
 "Do not say that," interrupted Awdrey. 
 
 " Then for the devil's sake for any sake, for my 
 sake, for your own, for Mrs. Awdrey's, don't do 
 it, Squire, don't do it." 
 
 "Don't do " began Awdrey. "What did 
 
 you think I was going to do?" 
 
 " Oh, you frightened me so awfully when you 
 looked like that I thought you were making up 
 your mind. Squire, don't tell what you know * 
 don't tell what I've done. I'll be locked up and 
 you'll be locked up, and Mrs. Awdrey's heart will 
 be broke, and we'll all be disgraced forever, and, 
 Squire, maybe they'll hang you. Think of one of 
 the family coming to that. Oh, sir, you've no 
 right to tell now. You'll have to think of me now, 
 if you'll think of nothing else. I've kept your 
 secret for close on six years, and if they knew what
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 255 
 
 I had done they would lock me up, and I couldn't 
 stand it. You daren't confess now for my sake, 
 sir." 
 
 " Get up, Mrs. Vincent," said Awdrey. "I can't 
 talk over matters with you while you kneel to me. 
 You've done a good deal for me, and I'm bound to 
 consider your position. Now, I'm going to tell 
 you something which perhaps you will scarcely 
 understand. I remembered the act of which I was 
 guilty several months ago, but until last night my 
 conscience did not trouble me about it. It is now 
 speaking to me, and speaking loudly. It is im 
 possible for me to tell you at present whether I 
 shall have strength of mind to follow it and do the 
 right yes, the right, the only right thing to do, 
 or to reject its counsels and lead a life of deceit 
 and hypocrisy. Both paths will be difficult to 
 follow, but one leads to life, the highest life, and 
 the other to death, the lowest death. It is quite 
 possible that I may choose the lowest course. If 
 I do, you, Hetty Vincent, will know the truth 
 about me. To the outside world I shall appear to 
 be a good man, for whatever my sufferings, I shall 
 endeavor to help my people, and to set them an 
 outward example of morality. I shall apparently 
 live for them, and will think no trouble too great 
 to promote their best interests. Only you, Hetty, 
 will know me for what I am a liar a man who 
 has committed murder, and then concealed his 
 crime a hypocrite. You will know that much as 
 I am thought of in the county here among
 
 256 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 own people, I am allowing an innocent man to wear 
 out his life in penal servitude because I have not 
 the courage to confess my deed. You will also 
 know that I am breaking the heart of this man's 
 mother." 
 
 "The knowledge won't matter to me, Squire. 
 I'd rather you were happy and all the rest of the 
 world miserable. I'd far, far rather." 
 
 "Do you think that I shall be happy?" 
 
 a I don't know," cried Hetty. "Perhaps you'll 
 forget after a bit, and that voice inside you won't 
 speak so loud. It used to trouble me once, but 
 now now it has grown dull." 
 
 "It will never cease to speak. I know myself 
 too well to have any doubt on that point, but all 
 the same I may take the downward course. I 
 can't say. Conscience has only just begun to 
 trouble me. I may obey its dictates, or I may 
 deliberately lead the life of a hypocrite. If I 
 choose the latter, can you stand the test?" 
 
 "I have stood it for five years." 
 
 B But I have not been at home the Court has 
 been shut np an absentee landlord is not always 
 to the front in his people's thoughts. In the 
 future, things will be different. Look at me for a 
 moment, Hetty Vincent. You are not well your 
 cheeks are hollow and your eyes are too bright. 
 Mrs. Everett is persuaded that you carry a secret. 
 If she thinks so, others may think the same. Your 
 ftunt also knows." 
 
 is different from aw," swd Hetty,
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 257 
 
 didn't see it done. It don't wear her like It wean 
 me. But I think, sir, now that you have come 
 back, and I am quite certain that I know your true 
 mind, and when I know, too, that you are carrying 
 the burden as well as me, and that we two," sh 
 paused, her voice broke "I think, sir," she added, 
 "that it won't wear me so much in the future." 
 
 " You must on no account be tried. If I resolve 
 to keep the secret of my guilt from all the rest of 
 the world, you must leave the country." 
 
 " Me leave the country !" cried Hetty her face 
 became ghastly pale, her eyes brimmed again with 
 tears. "Then you would indeed kill me," she 
 said, with a moan "to leave you Mr. Eobert, 
 you must guess why I have done all this." 
 
 " Hush, " he said in a harsh tone. He approached 
 the window, where the blind was drawn up. He 
 saw, or fancied he saw Mrs. Everett's dark figure 
 passing by in the distance. He retreated quickly 
 into the shaded part of the room. 
 
 "I cannot afford to misunderstand your words," 
 he said, after a pause, u but listen to me, Hetty, you 
 must never allude to that subject again. If I keep 
 this thing to myself I can only do it on condition 
 that you and your husband leave the country. I 
 have not fully made up my mind yet. Nothing 
 can be settled to-night. You had better not stay 
 any longer." 
 
 Hetty rose totteringly and approached the door. 
 Awdrey took the key from his pocket, and unlocked 
 it for her. As he did so he asked her a question.
 
 358 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 " Yon saw everything? You saw the deed done?** 
 
 " Yes, sir, I saw the stick in your hand, and " 
 
 "That is the point I am coming to," said the 
 Squire. " What did I do with the stick?" 
 
 "You pushed it into the midst of some un 
 derwood, sir, about twenty feet from the spot 
 where " She could not finish her sentence. 
 
 a Yes," said Awdrey slowly. " I remember that 
 Has the stick ever been found?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Kobert, that couldn't be." 
 
 u Why do you say that? The underwood may 
 be cut down at any moment. The stick has my 
 name on it. It may come to light." 
 
 "It can't, sir 'tain't there. Aunt Fanny and 
 me, we thought o' that, and we went the night after 
 the murder, and took the stick out from where you 
 had put it, and weighted it with stones, and threw 
 it into the deep pond close by. You need not fear 
 that, Mr. Eobert." 
 
 Awdrey did not answer. His eyes narrowed to 
 a line of satisfaction, and a cunning expression 
 came into them, altogether foreign to his face. 
 
 He softly opened the door, and Hetty passed out, 
 then he locked it again. 
 
 He was alone with his conscience. He fell on 
 his knees and covered his face. 
 
 " God, Thy judgments are terrible," he groaned.
 
 CHAPTER XXTT. 
 
 THERE was a short cut at the back of the office 
 which would take Hetty on to the high road with 
 out passing round by the front of the house. It so 
 happened that no one saw her when she arrived, 
 and no one also saw her go. When she reached the 
 road she stopped still to give vent to a deep sigh 
 of satisfaction. Things were not right, but they 
 were better than she had dared hope. Of course 
 the Squire remembered he could not have looked 
 at her as he had done the night before, if memory 
 had not fully come back to him. He remembered 
 he told her so, but she was also nearly certain 
 that he would not confess to the world at large the 
 crime of which he was guilty. 
 
 "I'll keep him to that," thought Hetty. "He 
 may think nought o' himself it's in his race not 
 to think o' theirselves but he'd think o' his wife 
 and p'raps he'd think a bit o' me. There's Mrs. 
 Everett and there's her son, and they both suffer 
 and suffer bad, but then agen there's Mrs. Awdrey 
 and there's me there's two on us agen two," con 
 tinued Hetty, rapidly thinking out the case, and 
 ranging the pros and cons in due order in her 
 mincl, "yes, there's two agen two,'* she repeated,
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 " Mrs. Everett and her son are suffering now then 
 it 'ud be Mrs. Awdrey and me and surely Mrs. 
 Awdrey is nearer to Squire, and maybe I'm a bit 
 nearer to Squire than the other two. Yes, it is 
 but fair that he should keep the secret to himself." 
 
 The sun had long set and twilight had fallen over 
 the land. Hetty had to walk uphill to reach the 
 Gables, the name of her husband's farm. It would 
 therefore take her longer to return home than it did 
 to come to the Court. She was anxious to get back 
 as quickly as possible. It would never do for Vin 
 cent to find out that she had deceived him. If he 
 slept soundly, as she fully expected he would, there 
 was not the least fear of her secret being discovered. 
 Susan never entered the house after four in the 
 afternoon. The men who worked in the fields 
 would return to the yard to put away their tools, 
 but they would have nothing to do in connection 
 with the house itself thus Vincent would be left 
 undisturbed during the hours of refreshment and 
 restoration which Hetty hoped he was enjoying. 
 
 "Yes, I did well," she murmured to herself, 
 quickening her steps as the thought came to her. 
 "I've seen Squire and there's nought to be dreaded 
 for a bit, anyway. The more he thinks o' it the 
 less he'll like to see himself in the prisoner's dock 
 and me and Mrs. Awdrey and aunt as witnesses 
 agen 'im and knowing, too, that me, and, perhaps, 
 aunt, too, will be put in the dock in our turn. 
 He's bound to think o' us, for we thought o' him 
 he won't like to get us into a hole, and he's saf*
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 261 
 
 not to do it. Yes, things look straight enough for 
 a bit, anyway. I'm glad I saw Squire he looked 
 splendid, too, stronger than I ever see 'im. He 
 don't care one bit for me, and I his eyes flashed 
 so angry when I nearly let out yes, I quite let out. 
 He said, 'I can't affect to misunderstand you.' 
 Ah, he knows at last, he knows the truth. I'm 
 glad he knows the truth. There's a fire inside o' 
 me, and it burns and burns it's love for him all 
 my life it has consumed within me. There's 
 nought I wouldn't do for 'im. Shame, I'd take it 
 light for his sake it rested me fine to see 'im, and 
 to take a real good look at 'im. Queer, ain't it, 
 that I should care so much for a man what never 
 give me a thought, but what is, is, and can't be 
 helped. Poor Vincent, he worships the ground I 
 walk on, and yet he's nought to me; he never can 
 be anything while Squire lives. I wonder if Squire 
 thought me pretty to-night. I wonder if he noticed 
 the wild flowers in the bosom of my jacket I 
 wonder. I'm glad I've a secret with 'im; he must 
 see me sometimes, and he must talk on it; and 
 then he'll notice that I'm pretty prettier than 
 most girls. Oh, my heart, how it beats !" 
 
 Hetty was struggling up the hill, panting as she 
 went. The pain in her side got worse, owing to 
 the exercise. She had presently to stop to take 
 breath. 
 
 "He said sum'mat 'bout going away," she mur 
 mured to herself; "he wants me and Vincent to 
 leave the country, but we won't go. No, I draw
 
 2G2 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 the line there. He thinks I'll split on 'im. I! 
 Little he knows me. I must manage to show him 
 that I can hold my secret, so as no one in all the 
 world suspects. Oh, good God, I wish the pain in 
 my side did not keep on so constant. I'll take 
 some of the black stuff when I get in; it always 
 soothes me ; the pain will go soon after I take it, 
 and I'll sleep like a top to-night. Poor George, 
 what a sleep he's havin' ; he'll be lively, and in the 
 best o' humors when he wakes; you always are 
 when you've taken that black stuff. Now, I must 
 hurry on, it's getting late." 
 
 She made another effort, and reached the summit 
 of the hill. 
 
 From there the ground sloped away until it 
 reached the Gables Farm. Hetty now put wing to 
 her feet and began to run, but the pain in her side 
 stopped her again, and she was obliged to proceed 
 more slowly. She reached home just when it was 
 dark ; the place was absolutely silent. Susan, who 
 did not sleep in the house, had gone away ; the men 
 had evidently come into the yard, put their tools 
 by, and gone off to their respective homes. 
 
 " That's good, " thought Hetty. " Vincent's stiU 
 asleep I'm safe. Now, if I hurry up he'll find 
 the place lighted and cheerful, and everything nice, 
 and his supper laid out for him, and he'll never 
 guess, never, never." 
 
 She unlatched the gate which led into the great 
 yard ; the fowls began to rustle on their perches, 
 and the house dog, Hover, came softly up to her,
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 263 
 
 and rubbed his head against her knee ; she patted 
 him abstractedly and hurried on to the house. 
 
 She had a latchkey with which she opened the 
 side door; she let herself in, and shut it behind 
 her. The place was still and dark. 
 
 Hetty knew her way well; she stole softly along 
 the dark passage, and opened the kitchen door. 
 The fire smouldered low in the range, and in the 
 surrounding darkness seemed to greet her, some 
 thing like an angry eye. When she entered the 
 room, she did not know why she shivered. 
 
 "He's sound asleep," she murmured to herself; 
 "that lovely black stuff ha' done 'im a power o' 
 good. I'll have a dose soon myself, for my heart 
 beats so 'ard, and the pain in my side is that 
 bad." 
 
 She approached the fireplace, opened the door 
 of the range, and stirred the smouldering coals into 
 the semblance of a blaze. By this light, which was 
 very fitful and quickly expired, she directed her 
 steps to a shelf, where a candlestick and candle 
 and matches were placed. She struck a match, 
 and lit the candle. With the candle in her hand 
 she then, softly and on tiptoe, approached the settle 
 where her husband lay. She did not want to wake 
 him yet, and held the candle in such a way that the 
 light should not fall on his face. As far as she 
 could tell he had not stirred since she left him, two 
 or three hours ago ; he was lying on his back, his 
 arms were stretched out at full length at each side, 
 his lips were slightly open as well as she could
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 see, his face was pale, though he was as a ride 
 florid man. 
 
 "He's sleepin' beautiful," thought Hetty. 
 " everything has been splendid. I'll run upstairs 
 now and take off my hat and jacket and make my 
 self look as trim as I can, for he do like, poor 
 George do, to see me look pretty. Then I'll come 
 down and lay the supper on the table, and then 
 when everything is ready I think I'll wake him. 
 He fell asleep soon after four, and it's a good bit 
 after eight now. I slept much longer than four 
 hours after my first dose of the nice black stuff, 
 but I think I'll wake 'im when supper is ready. 
 It'll be real fun when he sees the hour and knows 
 how long he 'as slept." 
 
 Holding her candle in her hand Hetty left the 
 kitchen and proceeded to light the different lamps 
 which stood about in the passages. She then went 
 to her own nice bedroom and lit a pair of candles 
 which were placed on each side of her dressing 
 glass. Having done this, she drew down the blinds 
 and shut the windows. She then carefully removed 
 her hat, took the cowslips out of the bosom of her 
 dress, kissed them, and put them in water. 
 
 "Squire looked at 'em," she said to herself. 
 " He didn't touch 'em, no, but he looked at 'em, 
 and then he looked at me and I saw in his eyes 
 that he knew I were pretty. I was glad then. 
 Seemed as if it were worth living just for Squire to 
 know that I were really pretty." 
 
 She placed the flowers in a jug of water, folded
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 265 
 
 up her jacket and gloves, and put them away with 
 her hat in the cupboard in the wall. She then, 
 with the candle still in her hand, went downstairs. 
 
 The kitchen felt chilly, and Hetty shivered as 
 she entered it. All of a sudden a great feeling of 
 weakness seemed to tremble through her slight 
 frame ; her heart fluttered too, seeming to bob up 
 and down within her. Then it quieted down again, 
 but the constant wearing pain grew worse and ached 
 so perceptibly that she had to catch her breath now 
 and then. 
 
 "I'll be all right when I can have a good dose," 
 she thought. She went to the window, farthest 
 from the one near which Vincent was lying, and 
 drew down the blind ; then going to the coal cellar 
 she brought out some firewood and large knobs of 
 coal. She fed the range and the fire soon crackled 
 and roared. Hetty stood close to it, and warmed 
 her hands by the blaze. 
 
 "What a noise it do make," she said to herself. 
 B It ought to wake him ; it would if he worn't sleep- 
 in' so sound from that lovely black stuff. Well, 
 he can keep on for a bit longer, for he were dead 
 tired, poor man. I'll get his supper afore I wake 
 'im." 
 
 She went out to the scullery, turned on the tap 
 and filled the kettle with fresh cold water. She set 
 it on the stove to boil, and then taking a coarse 
 white cloth from a drawer laid it on the centre 
 table. She took out plates, knives and forks and 
 glasses for two, put them in their places, laid a
 
 266 DR. RUlfSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 dish of cold bacon opposite Vincent's plate, and 
 some bread and a large square of cheese opposite 
 her own. Having done this, she looked at the 
 sleeping man. He was certainly quiet; she could 
 not even hear him breathing. As a rule he was a 
 stertorous breather, and when first they were mar 
 ried Hetty could scarcely sleep with his snoring. 
 
 " He don't snore to-night he's resting wonder 
 ful," she said to herself. "Now, I just know what 
 I'll do he mayn't care when he wakes for nothing 
 but cold stuff I'll boil some fresh eggs for his sup 
 per, and I'll make some cocoa. I'll have a nice jug 
 of milk cocoa and a plate of eggs all ready by the 
 time he wakes." 
 
 She fetched a saucepan, some milk, and half-a- 
 dozen new-laid eggs. Soon the cocoa was made 
 and poured into a big jug, the eggs just done to a 
 turn were put upon a plate ; they were brown eggs, 
 something the color of a deep nut. 
 
 "I could fancy one myself," thought Hetty; "I 
 ain't eat nothing to speak of for hours. Oh, I do 
 wish the pain in my side 'ud get better." 
 
 She pressed her hand to the region of her heart 
 and looked around her. The farm kitchen was 
 now the picture of comfort the fire blazed merrily. 
 Hetty had lit a large paraffin lamp and placed it in 
 the centre of the table ; it lit up the cosy room, even 
 the beams and rafters glistened in the strong light; 
 shadows from the fire leaped up and reflected them 
 selves on the sleeper's face. 
 
 "He's very white and very still," thought Hetty;
 
 *R. BUMSSY'8 PATIENT. 
 
 "maybe he has slept long enough. I think I'll 
 wake him now, for supper's ready." 
 
 Then came a scratching at the window outside, 
 and the fretful howl of a dog. 
 
 " There's Rover; what's the matter with him? I 
 wish he wouldn't howl like that," thought the 
 wife. " I hate dogs that howl. Maybe I had best 
 let 'im in." 
 
 She ran to the kitchen door, flew down the pas 
 sage, and opened the door which led into the yard. 
 
 "Rover, stop that noise and come along in," she 
 called. 
 
 The great dog shuffled up to her and thrust his 
 head into her hand. She brought him into the 
 kitchen. The moment she did so he sat down on 
 his haunches, threw up his head, 'and began to 
 howl again. 
 
 "Nonsense, Rover, stop that noise," she said. 
 She struck him a blow on his forehead, he cowered, 
 looked at her sorrowfully, and then tried to lick her 
 hand. She brought him to the fire ; he came un 
 willingly, slinking down at last with his back to 
 the still figure on the settle. 
 
 " Queer, what's the matter with him?" thought 
 Hetty. "They say, folks do, that dogs see things 
 We don't; some folks say they see sperrits. Aunt 
 would be in a fuss if Rover went on like that. 
 Dear, I am turning nervous; fancy minding the 
 howl of a dog. It's true my nerves ain't what they 
 wor. Well, cocoa will spoil, and eggs will spoil, 
 and time has come for me to wake Vincent. What
 
 868 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 a laugh we'll have together when I tell 'im of hi 
 long sleep." 
 
 She approached the sofa now, but her steps 
 dragged themselves as she went up to it and bent 
 down over her husband and called his name. 
 
 "George!" she said. "George!" He never 
 moved. She went a little nearer, calling him louder. 
 
 " George, George, wake up !" she said. " Wake, 
 George, you've slept for over four hours. Supper 
 is ready, George cocoa and eggs, your favorite 
 supper. Wake! George, wake!" 
 
 The dog howled by the fire. 
 
 " Rover, I'll turn you out if you make that noise 
 again," said Hetty. She went on her knees now 
 by the sleeping man, and shook him. His head 
 moved when she did so and she thought he was 
 about to open his eyes, but when she took her 
 hands away there was not a motion, not a sound. 
 
 a What is it?" she said to herself. For the first 
 time a very perceptible fear crept into her heart. 
 She bent low and listened for the breathing. 
 
 " He do breathe gentle, " she murmured. " I cat. 
 scarcely hear; do I hear at all. I think I'll fetch 
 a candle." 
 
 In shaking the farmer she had managed to dis 
 lodge one of his hands, which had fallen forward 
 over the edge of the settle. She took it up, then 
 she let it fall with a slight scream; it was cold, icy 
 cold! 
 
 * Good God ! Oh, God in heaven ! what is it?" 
 mattered the wife.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'8 PATIENT. 269 
 
 real significance of the thing had not ye* 
 flashed upon her bewildered brain, but a sick feai 
 was creeping over her. She went for the candle, 
 and bringing it back, held it close to the ashen 
 face. It was not only white, it was gray. The 
 lips were faintly open, but not a breath proceeded 
 from them. The figure was already stiff in the icy 
 embrace of death. 
 
 Hetty had seen death before; its aspect was to< 
 unmistakable for her not to recognize it again. Shv 
 fell suddenly forward, putting out the candle as sh* 
 did so. Her face, almost as white as the face of 
 the dead man, was pressed against his breast. Pop 
 a brief few moments she was unconscious.
 
 CHAPTEK 
 
 THE twilight darkened into night, but Awdrey 
 still remained in the office. After a time he groped 
 for a box of matches, found one, struck a match, 
 took a pair of heavy silver candlesticks from a cup 
 board in the wall, lit the candles which were in 
 them, and then put them on his office table. The 
 room was a large one, and the light of the two can 
 dles seemed only to make the darkness visible. 
 Awdrey went to the table, seated himself in the 
 old chair which his father and his grandfather had 
 occupied before him, and began mechanically to 
 arrange some papers, and put a pile of other things 
 in order. His nature was naturally full of system ; 
 from his childhood up he had hated untidiness of all 
 sorts. While he was so engaged there came a 
 knock at the office door. He rose, went across the 
 room, and opened it ; a footman stood without. 
 
 " Mrs. Awdrey has sent me to ask you, sir, if you 
 are ready for dinner." 
 
 * Tell your mistress that I am not coming in to 
 dinner," replied Awdrey. "Ask her not to wait 
 for me ; I am particularly busy, and will have some 
 thing later." 
 
 The man, with an immovable countenance, turned
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 271 
 
 away. Awdrey once more locked the office door. 
 He now drew down the remaining blinds to the 
 other two windows, and began to pace up and down 
 the long room. The powers of good and evil were 
 at this moment fighting for his soul he knew it ; 
 there was a tremendous conflict raging within him ; 
 it seemed to tear his life in two ; beads of perspi 
 ration stood on his brow. He knew that either the 
 God who made him or the devil would have won 
 the victory before he left that room. 
 
 "I must make my decision once for all," he said 
 to himself. " I am wide awake ; my whole intel 
 lectual nature is full of vigor; I have no excuse 
 whatever ; the matter must be finally settled now. 
 
 If I follow the devil " he shrank as the words 
 
 formed themselves out of his brain ; he had natur 
 ally the utmost loathing for evil in any form, his 
 nature was meant to be upright ; at school he had 
 been one of the good boys ; one of the boys to whom 
 low vices, dishonorable actions of any kind, were 
 simply impossible ; he had had his weaknesses, for 
 who has not? but these weaknesses were all more 
 or less akin to the virtues. 
 
 "If I choose the devil!" he repeated. Once 
 again he faltered, trembling violently ; he had come 
 to the part of the room where his father's old desk 
 was situated, he leaned up against it and gazed 
 gloomily out into the darkness which confronted 
 him. 
 
 " I know exactly what will happen if I follow the 
 downward path," lie said again, "I must force
 
 372 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 myself to think wrong right, and right wrong. 
 There is no possible way for me to live this life of 
 deception except by deceiving myself. Must I 
 decide to-night?" 
 
 He staggered into the chair which his father used 
 to occupy. His father had been a man full of rec 
 titude ; the doom of the house had never overtaken 
 him ; he had been a man with an almost too severe 
 and lofty code of honor. Awdrey remembered all 
 about his father as he sat in that chair. He sprang 
 again to his feet. 
 
 " There is no use in putting off the hour, for the 
 hour has come," he thought. " This is the state of 
 the case. God and the devil are with me to-night. 
 I cannot lie in the presence of .such awful, such 
 potent Forces. I must face the thing as it is. 
 This is what has happened to me. I, who would 
 not willingly in my sober senses, hurt the smallest 
 insect that crawls on the earth, once, nearly six years 
 ago, in a sudden moment of passion killed a man. 
 He attacked me, and I defended myself. I killed 
 him in self-defence. I no more meant to kill him 
 than I mean to commit murder to-night. Notwith 
 standing that fact I did it. Doubtless the action 
 came over me as a tremendous shock immediately 
 after the deed the doom of my house fell on me, 
 and I forgot all about what I myself had done for 
 five years the memory of it never returned to me. 
 Now I know all about it. At the present moment 
 another man is suffering in my stead. Now if I 
 follow the devil I shall be a brute and a scoundrel j
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 273 
 
 the other man will go on suffering, and his mother, 
 whose heart is already broken, may die before he 
 recovers his liberty. Thus I shall practically kill 
 two lives. No one will know no one will guess 
 that I am leading a shadowed life. I feel strong 
 enough now to cover up the deed, to hide away the 
 remorse. I feel not the least doubt that I shall be 
 outwardly successful the respect of my fellow-men 
 will follow me the love of many will be given to 
 me. By and by I may have children, and they 
 will love me as I loved my father, and Margaret 
 will look up to me and consult n as my mother 
 looked up to and consulted my father, and my 
 honor will be considered above reproach. My 
 people too will rejoice to have me back with them. 
 I can serve them if I am returned for this constit 
 uency in short, I can live a worthy and respected 
 life. The devil will have his way, but no one will 
 guess that it is the devil's way I shall seem to 
 live the life of an angel." 
 
 Awdrey paused here in his own thought. 
 
 "I feel as if the devil were laughing at me," he 
 said, speaking half aloud, and looking again into 
 the darkness of the room " he knows that his hour 
 will come by and by my span of life will run out 
 eventually I shall reach the long end of the long 
 way. But until that time, day by day, and hour 
 by hour, I shall live the life of the hypocrite. Like 
 a whited sepulchre shall I be truly, for I shall carry 
 hell here. By and by I shall have to answer for 
 all at a Higher Tribunal, and meanwhile I shall
 
 274 DR. RDMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 carry hell here." He pressed his hand to his 
 breast his face was ghastly. u Shall I follow the 
 devil? Suppose I do not, what then?" 
 
 There came another tap at the office door. Aw- 
 drey went across the room and opened it. He 
 started and uttered a smothered oath, for Margaret 
 stood on the threshold. 
 
 " Go away now, Maggie, I can't see you ; I am 
 very much engaged," he said. 
 
 Instead of obeying him she stepped across the 
 threshold. 
 
 "But you have no one with you," she said, look 
 ing into the darkness of the room. " What are you 
 doing, Robert, all by yourself? You look very 
 white and tired. We have finished dinner my 
 uncle has come over from Cuthbertstown, and 
 would like to see you they all think it strange 
 your being away. What is the matter? Won't 
 you return with me to the house?" 
 
 "I cannot yet. I am particularly engaged." 
 
 "But what about? Uncle James will be much 
 disappointed if he does not see you." 
 
 "I'll come to him presently when I have thought 
 out a problem." 
 
 Margaret turned herself now in such a position 
 that she could see her husband's face. Something 
 in his eyes seemed to speak straight to her sym 
 pathies, she put her arms round his neck. 
 
 "Don't think any more now, my darling," she 
 said. " Remember, though you are so well, that 
 you were once very ill. You have had no dinner,
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 275 
 
 it is not right for you to starve yourself and tire 
 yourself. Come home with me, Robert, come 
 home!" 
 
 "Not yet," he replied. "There is a knot which 
 I must untie. I am thinking a very grave problem 
 out. I shall have no rest, no peace, until I have 
 made up my mind." 
 
 " What can be the matter?" inquired Margaret, 
 "Can I help you in any way?" 
 
 "No, my dearest," he answered very tenderly, 
 "except by leaving me." 
 
 " Is it anything to do with accounts?" she asked. 
 She glanced at the table with its pile of letters and 
 papers. " If so, I could really render you assist 
 ance ; I used to keep accounts for Uncle James in 
 the old days. Two brains are better than one. 
 Let me help you." 
 
 "It is a mental problem, Maggie; it relates to 
 morals." 
 
 " Oh, dear me, Robert, you are quite mysterious," 
 she said with a ghost of a smile; but then she met 
 his eyes and the trouble in them startled her. 
 
 "I wish I could help you," she said. "Do let 
 me." 
 
 "You cannot," he replied harshly, for the look 
 in her face added to his tortures. " I shall come 
 to a conclusion presently. When I come to it I 
 will return to the house." 
 
 " Then we are not to wait up for you? It is get 
 ting quite late, long past nine o'clock." 
 
 "Po not wait up for me; leave the side door on
 
 276 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 the latch ; I'll come in presently when I have made 
 up my mind on this important matter." 
 
 She approached the door unwillingly ; when she 
 reached the threshold she turned and faced him. 
 
 "I cannot but see that you are worried about 
 something," she said. "I know, Robert, that you 
 will have strength to do what is right. I cannot 
 imagine what your worry can be, but a moral prob 
 lem with you must mean the victory of right over 
 wrong." 
 
 u Maggie, you drive me mad," he called after her, 
 but his voice was hoarse, and it did not reach her 
 ears. She closed the door, and he heard her re 
 treating footsteps on the gravel outside. He locked 
 the door once more. 
 
 " There spoke God and my good angel," he mur 
 mured to himself. " Help me, Powers of Evil, if I 
 am to follow you; give me strength to walk the 
 path of the lowest." 
 
 These words had scarcely risen in the form of an 
 awful prayer when once again he heard his wife's 
 voice at the door. She was tapping and calling to 
 him at the same time. He opened the door. 
 
 "Well?" he said. 
 
 "I am sorry to disturb you," she replied, "but 
 you really must put off all your reflections for the 
 time being. Who do you think has just arrived?" 
 
 "Who?" he asked in a listless voice. 
 
 "Your old friend and mine, Dr. Rumsey." 
 
 "Rumsey!" replied Awdrey, "he would be a 
 strong advocate on your side, Maggie.'*
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 277 
 
 " On my side ? " she queried. 
 
 " I cannot explain myself. I think I'll see 1 hm- 
 sey. It would be possible for me to put a quef don 
 to him which I could not put to you ask him to 
 come to me." 
 
 " He shall come at once," she answered, " I am 
 heartily glad that he is here." 
 
 So he turned back and went to the house she 
 ran up the front steps Rumsey was in the hall. 
 
 " My hearty congratulations," he said, coming 
 up to her. " Your letter contained such good news 
 that I could not forbear hurrying down to Grand- 
 court to take a peep at my strange patient ; I always 
 call Awdrey my strange patient. Is it true that he 
 is now quite well ? " 
 
 " Half an hour ago I should have said yes," re 
 plied Margaret ; " but " 
 
 " Any recurrence of the old symptoms ? " asked 
 the doctor. 
 
 " No, nothing of that sort. Perhaps the excite 
 ment has been too much for him. Come into the 
 library, will you ? " 
 
 She entered as she spoke, the doctor following 
 her. 
 
 " I wrote to you when I was abroad," continued 
 Margaret, " telling you the simple fact that my hus 
 band's state of health had gone from better to 
 better. He recovered tone of mind and body in 
 the most rapid degree. This morning I considered 
 him a man of perfect physical health and of keen 
 brilliant intellect, You know during the five years
 
 278 DR. RVMSEY'S PATIEiW. 
 
 when the cloud was over his brain he refused to 
 read, and lost grip of all passing events. There is 
 no subject now of general interest that he cannot 
 talk about all matters of public concern arouse 
 his keenest sympathies. To-day he has been 
 nominated to stand for his constituency, vacant by 
 he death of our late member. I have no doubt 
 chat he will represent us in the House when Par 
 liament next sits." 
 
 " Or perhaps before this one rises," said the doc. 
 tor. "Well, Mrs. Awdrey, all this sounds most 
 encouraging, but your 'but' leads to something not 
 so satisfactory, does it not?" 
 
 " That is so ; at the present moment I do not like 
 his state. He was out and about all day, but in 
 stead of returning home to dinner went straight to 
 his office, where he now is. As far as I can see, 
 he is doing no special work, but he will not come 
 into the house. He tells me that he is facing a 
 problem which he also says is a moral one. He 
 refuses to leave the office until he has come to a 
 satisfactory conclusion." 
 
 "Come, he is overdoing it," said the doctor. 
 
 " I think so. I told him just now that you had 
 arrived; he asked me to bring you to him; will 
 you come?" 
 
 "With pleasure." 
 
 " Can you do without a meal until you have seen 
 him?" 
 
 "Certainly; take me to him at once." 
 
 Mrs. Awdrey left the house, and took Dr. Rum-
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 sey round by the side walk which led to the office. 
 The door was now slightly ajar ; Margaret entered 
 the doctor following behind her. 
 
 "Well, my friend," said Dr. Kumsey, in his 
 cheerful voice, " it is good to see you back in your 
 old place again. Your wife's letter was so satis 
 factory that I could not resist the temptation of 
 coming to see you for myself." 
 
 " I am in perfect health," replied Awdrey. a Sit 
 down, won't you, Eumsey? Margaret, my dear, 
 do you mind leaving us?" 
 
 "No, Eobert," she answered. "I trust to Dr. 
 Eumsey to bring you back to your senses." 
 
 "She does not know what she is saying," mut 
 tered Awdrey. He followed his wife to the door, 
 and when she went out turned the key in the 
 lock. 
 
 "It is a strange thing," he said, the moment he 
 found himself alone with his guest, "that you, 
 Eumsey, should be here at this moment. You 
 were with me during the hour of my keenest and 
 most terrible physical and mental degradation; 
 you have now come to see me through the hour of 
 my moral degradation or victory." 
 
 "Your moral degradation or victory?" said the 
 doctor; "what does this mean?" 
 
 "It simply means this, Dr. Eumsey; I am th 
 unhappy possessor of a secret." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "Yes a secret. Were this secret known my 
 wife's heart would be broken, and this honorable
 
 280 DR. RVMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 house of which I am the last descendant would go 
 to complete shipwreck. I don't talk of myself it 
 the matter." 
 
 "Do you mean to confide in me?" asked the 
 doctor, after a pause. 
 
 "I cannot; for the simple reason, that if I told 
 you everything you would be bound as a man and 
 a gentleman to take steps to insure the downfall 
 which I dread." 
 
 "Are you certain that you are not suffering from 
 delusion?" 
 
 " No, doctor, I wish I were.** 
 
 "You certainly look sane enough," said the doc 
 tor, examining his patient with one of his pene 
 trating glances. a You must allow me to congratu 
 late you. If I had not seen you with my own eyes 
 I could never have believed in such a reformation. 
 You are bronzed; your frame has widened; you 
 have not a scrap of superfluous flesh about you. 
 Let me feel your arm; my dear sir, your muscle is 
 to be envied." 
 
 " I was famed for my athletic power long ago, ' 
 said Awdrey, with a grim smile. "But now, 
 doctor, to facts. You have come here; it is 
 possible foi me to take you into my confidence to 
 a certain extent. Will you allow me to state my 
 case?" 
 
 "As you intend only to state it partially it 
 will be difficult for me to advise you," said the 
 doctor. 
 
 -Still, will you listen?"
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 281 
 
 Til listen." 
 
 "Well, the fact is this," said Awdrey, rising, 
 " either God or the devil take possession of me 
 to-night." 
 
 "Come, come," said Kumsey, "you are exagger 
 ating the state of the case." 
 
 " I am not. I am going through the most des 
 perate fight that ever assailed a man. I may get 
 out on the side of good, but at the present moment 
 I must state frankly that all my inclinations tend 
 to getting out of this struggle on the side which 
 will put me into the Devil's hands." 
 
 "Come," said the doctor again, a if that is so 
 there can be no doubt with regard to your position. 
 You must close with right even though it is a 
 struggle. You confess to possessing a secret; that 
 secret is the cause of your misery ; there is a right 
 and a wrong to it?" 
 
 * Undoubtedly; a very great right and a very 
 grave wrong." 
 
 u Then, Awdrey, do not hesitate; be man enough 
 to do the right." 
 
 Awdrey turned white. 
 
 a You are the second person who has come here 
 to-night and advised me on the side of God," he 
 said. 
 
 " Out with your trouble, man, and relieve your 
 mind." 
 
 "When I relieve my mind," said Awdrey, "my 
 wife's heart will break, and our house will be 
 ruined."
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 "What about you?" 
 
 "I shall go under." 
 
 " I doubt very much if your doing right would 
 ever break a heart like your wife's," said Bumsey, 
 "but doing wrong would undoubtedly crush her 
 spirit." 
 
 "There you are again will no one take the 
 Devil's part? Dr. Eumsey, I firmly believe that 
 it is much owing to your influence that I am now 
 in my sane mind. I believe that it is owing to 
 you that the doom of my house has been lifted from 
 my brain. When I think of the path which you 
 now advocate, I could curse the day when you 
 brought me back to health and sanity. A very 
 little influence on the other side, a mere letting me 
 alone, and I should now either be a madman or in 
 my grave; then I would have carried my secret to 
 the bitter end. As it is " 
 
 There was a noise heard outside the sound 
 made by a faltering footstep. The brush of a 
 woman's dress was distinctly audible against the 
 door ; this was followed by a timid knock. 
 
 u Who is disturbing us now?" said Awdrey, with 
 irritation. 
 
 "I'll open the door and see," said the doctor. 
 
 He crossed the room as he spoke and opened the 
 door. An untidily dressed girl with a ghastly white 
 face stood without. When the door was opened 
 she peered anxiously into the room. 
 
 "Is Mr. Awdrey in? yes, I see him. I must 
 speak to him at cnce."
 
 Dtt. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 283 
 
 She staggered across the threshold. 
 
 "I must see you alone, Squire," she said 
 " quite alone and at once." 
 
 " This has to do with the matter under consider- 
 tion," said the Squire. "Come in, Hetty; sit 
 down. Kumseys, you had best leave ua."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A REAL faint, or suspension of the heart's action, 
 is never a long affair. When Hetty fell in an un 
 conscious state against the body of her dead hus 
 band she quickly recovered herself. Her intellect 
 was keen enough, and she knew exactly what had 
 happened. The nice black stuff which gave such 
 pleasant dreams had killed Vincent. She had there 
 fore killed him. Yes, he was stone dead she had 
 seen death once or twice before, and could not pos 
 sibly mistake it. She had seen her mother die long 
 ago, and had stood by the deathbed of more than 
 one neighbor. The cold, the stiffness, the gray- 
 white appearance, all told her beyond the possibil- 
 ty of doubt that life was not only extinct, but had 
 been extinct for at least a couple of hours. Her 
 husband was dead. When she had given him that 
 fatal dose he had been in the full vigor of youth 
 and health now he was dead. _ She had never loved 
 him in life ; although he had been an affectionate 
 husband to her, but at this moment she shed a few 
 tears for him. Not many, for they were completely 
 swallowed up in the fear and terror which grew 
 greater and greater each moment within her. He 
 was dead, and she had killed him. Long ago the
 
 Dtt. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 had concealed the knowledge of a murder because 
 she loved the man who had committed it. Now 
 she had committed murder herself not intention 
 ally, no, no. No more had she intended to kill Vin 
 cent than Awdrey when he was out that night had 
 intended to take the life of Horace Frere. But 
 Frere was dead and now Vincent was dead, and 
 Hetty would be tried for the crime. No, surely 
 they could not try her they could not possibly 
 bring it home to her. How could a little thing like 
 she was be supposed to take the life of a big man? 
 She had never meant to injure him, too she had 
 only meant to give him a good sleep, to rest him 
 thoroughly to deceive him, of course to do a 
 thing which she knew if he were aware of would 
 break his heart; but to take his life, no, nothing 
 was further from her thoughts. Nevertheless the 
 deed was done. 
 
 Oh, it was horrible, horrible she hated being so 
 close to the dead body. It was no longer Vincent, 
 the man who would have protected her at the risk 
 of his life, it was a hideous dead body. She would 
 get away from it she would creep up close to 
 Rover. No wonder Rover hated the room; per 
 haps he saw the spirit of her husband. Oh, how 
 frightened she was ! What was the matter with her 
 side? why did her heart beat so strangely, gallop 
 ing one, two, three, then pausing, then one, two, 
 three again? and the pain, the sick, awful pain. 
 Yes, she knew she was sick to death with terror. 
 
 She got up presently from where she had beea
 
 286 DR. KUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 kneeling by her dead husband's side and staggered 
 across to the fireplace. She tried wildly to think, 
 but she found herself incapable of reasoning. 
 Shivering violently, she approached the table, 
 poured out a cup of the cocoa which was still hot, 
 and managed to drink it off. The warm liquid re 
 vived her, and she felt a shade better and more 
 capable of thought. Her one instinct now was to 
 save herself. Vincent was dead no one in all the 
 world could bring him back to life, but, if possible, 
 Hetty would so act that not a soul in all the 
 country should suspect her. How could she make 
 things safe? If it were known, known every 
 where, that she was away from him when he died, 
 then of course she would be safe. Yes, this fact 
 must be known. Once she had saved the Squire, 
 now the Squire must save her. It must be known 
 everywhere that she had sought an interview with 
 him that at the time when Vincent died she was 
 in the Squire's presence, shut up in the office 
 with him, the door locked she and the Squire 
 alone together. This secret, which she would 
 have fought to the death to keep to herself an 
 hour ago, must now be blazoned abroad to a criti 
 cising world. The lesser danger to the Squire 
 must be completely swallowed up in the greater 
 danger to herself. She must hurry to him at once 
 and get him to tell what he knew. Ah, yes, if he 
 did this she would be safe she remembered the 
 right word at last, for she had heard the neigh 
 bors speak of it when it a celebrated trial was go-
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 287 
 
 ing on in Salisbury she must prove an alibi then 
 it would be known that she had been absent from 
 home when her husband died. 
 
 The imminence of the danger made her at last 
 feel quiet and steady. She took up the lighted 
 candle and went into the dairy she unlocked the 
 mpboard in the wall and took out the bottle of 
 laudanum. Returning to the kitchen she emptied 
 the contents of the bottle into the range and then 
 threw the bottle itself also into the heart of the fire 
 she watched it as it slowly melted under the in 
 fluence of the hot fire the laudanum itself was also 
 licked up by the hungry flames. That tell-tale and 
 awful evidence of her guilt was at least removed. 
 She forgot all about Susan having seen the liquid in 
 the morning she knew nothing about the evidence 
 which would be brought to light at a coroner's in 
 quest about the facts which a doctor would be sure 
 to give. Nothing but the bare reality remained 
 prominently before her excited brain. Vincent was 
 dead she had killed him by an overdose of lauda 
 num which she had given him in all innocence to 
 make him sleep but yet, yet in her heart of hearts, 
 she knew that her motive would not bear explana 
 tion. 
 
 "Squire will save me," she said to herself "if 
 it's proved that I were with Squire I am safe. I'll 
 go to him now I'll tell 'im all at once. It's late, 
 very late, and it's dark outside, but I'll go." 
 
 Hetty left the room, leaving the dog behind her 
 he uttered a frightful howl when she did so and
 
 288 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 followed her as far as the door she shut and locked 
 the doo? he scratched at it to try and release him 
 self, but Hetty took no notice she was cruel as re 
 garded the dumb beast's fear in her own agony and 
 terror. 
 
 She ran upstairs to her room, put on her hat and 
 -dcket, and went out. Stumbling and trembling, 
 jie went along the road until she reached the sum 
 mit of the hill which led straight down in a gentle 
 slope toward Grandcourt. She was glad the ground 
 sloped downward, for it was important that she 
 should quicken her footsteps in order to see the 
 Squire with as little delay as possible. She was 
 quite oblivious of the lapse of time since her last 
 visit, and hoped he might still be in the office. She 
 resolved to try the office first. If he were not there 
 she would go on to the house find him she must; 
 nothing should keep her from his presence to 
 night. 
 
 She presently reached Grandcourt, entered the 
 grounds by a side entrance and pursued her way 
 through the darkness. The sky overhead was 
 cloudy, neither moon nor stars were visible. Fal 
 tering and falling she pressed forward, and by and 
 by reached the neighborhood "of the office. She 
 saw a light burning dimly behind the closed blinds 
 ^-her heart beat with a sense of thankfulness she 
 staggered up to the door, brushing her dress against 
 the door as she did so she put up her hand and 
 knocked feebly. The next instant the door was 
 opened to her A man, a total stranger, confronted
 
 DR. RUMSEY'8 PATIENT. 289 
 
 her, but behind him she saw Awdrey. She tottered 
 into the room. 
 
 The comparative light and warmth within, after 
 the darkness and chilly damp of the spring even 
 ing, made her head reel, and her eyes at first could 
 take in no object distinctly. She was conscious of 
 uttering excited words, then she heard the door 
 shut behind her. She looked round she was 
 alone with the Squire. She staggered up to him, 
 and fell on her knees. 
 
 "You must save me as I saved you long ago,*' 
 she panted. 
 
 "What is it? Get up. What do you mean?" 
 said Awdrey. 
 
 "I mean, Squire oh ! I mean I wanted to come 
 to you to-day, but Yincent," her voice faltered 
 u Vincent were mad wi' jealousy. He thought that 
 I ought not to see you, Squire ; he had got summat 
 in his brain, and it made him mad. He thought 
 that, perhaps, long ago, Squire, I loved you long 
 ago. I'm not af eared to say anything to-night, the 
 trutb will out to-night I loved you long ago, I love 
 you 6 till; yes, yes, with all my heart, with all my 
 heart. You never cared nothin' for me, I know 
 that well. You never did me a wrong in thought 
 or in deed, I know that well also; but to me you 
 were as a god, and I loved you, I love you still, and 
 Vincent, my husband, he must have seen it in my 
 face; but you did me no wrong never, in word or 
 in deed only loved you and I love you still." 
 
 "You must be mad, girl," said Awdrey. "Why
 
 290 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 have you come here to tell me that? Get tip at 
 once; your words and your actions distress me 
 much. Get up, Hetty; try to compose yourself." 
 
 u What I have come to say had best be said kneel 
 ing," replied Hetty; "it eases the awful pain iu 
 my side to kneel. Let me be, Squire; let me 
 Kneel up against your father's desk. Ah! that's 
 better. It is my heart I think it's broke ; anyhow, 
 it beats awful, and the pain is awful." 
 
 " If you have come for any other reason than to 
 say the words you have just said, say them and go," 
 replied Awdrey. 
 
 Hetty glanced up at him. His face was hard, 
 she thought it looked cruel, she shivered from head 
 to foot. Was it for this man she had sacrificed her 
 life? Then the awful significance of her errand 
 came over her, and she proceeded to speak. 
 
 "Vincent saw the truth in my face," she con 
 tinued. "Anyhow, he was mad wi' jealousy, and 
 he said that I worn't to come and see yer. He 
 heard me speak to yer last night, he heard me say 
 it's a matter o' life and death and he wor mad. He 
 said I worn't to come; but I wor mad too, mad to 
 come, and I thought I'd get over him by guile. I 
 put summat in his stout, and he" drank it summat, 
 I don't know the name, but I had took it myself 
 and it always made me a sight better, and I gave 
 it to 'im in his stout and he drank it, and then he 
 slept. He lay down on the settle in the kitchen, 
 and he went off into a dead sleep. When he slept 
 real sound I stole away and I come to you. I saw
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 291 
 
 you this evening and you spoke to me and I spoke 
 to you, and I begged of you to keep our secret, and 
 I thought perhaps you would, and I come away 
 feelin' better. I went back 'ome, and the place 
 were quiet, and I got into the kitchen. Vincent 
 was lying on the settle sound asleep. I thought 
 nought o* his sleepin', only to be glad, for I knew 
 he'd never have missed me. I made his supper for 
 him, and built up the fire, and I lit the lamps in 
 the house, and I took off my outdoor things. The 
 dog howled, but I didn't take no notice. Presently 
 I went up to Vincent, and I shook 'im I shook 'im 
 'ard, but he didn't wake. I took his hand in mine, 
 it wor cold as ice; I listened for his breath, there 
 wor none. Squire," said Hetty, rising now to her 
 feet, " my man wor dead ; Squire, I have killed 'im, 
 just the same as you killed the man on Salisbury 
 Plain six years ago. My husband is dead, and I 
 have killed him. Squire, you must save me as I 
 saved you." 
 
 "How?" asked Awdrey. His voice had com 
 pletely altered now. In the presence of the real 
 tragedy all the hardness had left it. He sank into 
 a chair near Hetty's side, he even took one of her 
 trembling hands in his. 
 
 " How am I to help you, you poor soul?" he said 
 again. 
 
 * You must prove an alibi that' s the word. You 
 must say 'Hetty wor wi' me, she couldn't have 
 killed her man,' you must say that; you must tell 
 all the world that you and me was together hero,"
 
 293 DR. RUMSET'S PATIENT. 
 
 Til do better than that," said Awdrey suddenly. 
 
 "What do you mean?" Hetty started back and 
 gazed at him with a queer mixture of hope and 
 terror in her face. "Better but there ain't no 
 better," she cried. w Ef you don't tell the simple 
 truth I'll be hanged; hanged by the neck until I 
 die I, who saved you at the risk of my own soul 
 nearly six years gone." 
 
 Til not let you be hanged,** said Awdrey, ris 
 ing. * Get up, Hetty ; do not kneel to me. You 
 don't quite know what you have done for me to 
 night. Sit on that chair compose yourself try 
 to be calm. Hetty, you just came in the nick of 
 time. God and the devil were fighting for my soul. 
 In spite of all the devil's efforts God was getting 
 the better of it, and I I didn't want him to get the 
 best. I wanted the devil to help me, and, Hetty, 
 I even prayed to him that he might come and help 
 me. When I saw you coming into the room I 
 thought at first that my prayer was answered. I 
 seemed to see the devil on your face. Now I see 
 differently your presence has lifted a great cloud 
 from before my mind I see distinctly, almost as 
 distinctly as if I were in hell itself, the awful con 
 sequences which must arise -from wrong-doing. 
 Hetty, I have made up my mind; you, of all peo 
 ple, have been the most powerful advocate on the 
 side of God to-night. We will both do the right, 
 child we will confess the simple truth." 
 
 "No, Squire, no; they'll kill me, they*!! kill me, 
 if you don't help me in the only way you can help
 
 DR. RUMSEriS PATIENT. 293 
 
 me you are stronger than me, Squire don't lead 
 me to my death." 
 
 "They won't kill you, but you must tell the 
 whole truth as I will tell the truth. It can be 
 proved that you gave the poison to your husband 
 with no intent to kill that matter can be arranged 
 promptly. Come with me, Hetty, now let us 
 come together. If you falter I'll strengthen you; 
 if I falter you'll strengthen me. We will go 
 together at once and tell tell what you saw and 
 what I did nearly six years ago." 
 
 "What you did on Salisbury Plain?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes, the time I killed that man." 
 
 "Never, never," she answered; she fell flat on 
 her face on the floor. 
 
 Awdrey went to her and tried to raise her up. 
 
 "Come," he said, "I have looked into the very 
 heart of evil, and I cannot go on with it whatever 
 the consequence we must both tell the truth and 
 we will do it together; come at once." 
 
 "You don't know what will happen to you," said 
 Hetty. She shivered as she lay prone before 
 him. 
 
 "No matter nothing could happen so bad as 
 shutting away the face of God. I'll tell all, and 
 you must tell all. No more lies for either of us. 
 We will save our souls even if our bodies die." 
 
 "The pain the pain in my side," moaned 
 Hetty. 
 
 "It will be better after we have gone through 
 what is before us. Come, I'll take your hand."
 
 204 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 She gave it timidly ; the Squire's fingers closed 
 over it. 
 
 " Where are we to go?" she asked. " Where are 
 you taking me?" 
 
 u Come with me. I'll speak. Presently it will 
 be your turn after they know all, all the worst, it 
 will be your turn to speak." 
 
 " Who are to know all, Squire?" 
 
 "My wife, my sisters, Mrs. Everett, my friends." 
 
 " Oh, God, God, why was I ever born !" moaned 
 Hetty. 
 
 "You'll feel better afterward," said Awdrey. 
 * Try and remember that in the awful struggle and 
 ordeal of the next few minutes your soul and mine 
 will be born again they will be saved saved from 
 the power of evil. Be brave, Hetty. You told me 
 to-night that you loved me prove the greatness of 
 your love by helping me to save my own soul and 
 yours." 
 
 "I wonder if this is true," said Hetty. "You 
 seem to lift me out of myself." She spoke in a 
 sort of dull wonder. 
 
 "It is true it is right it is the only thing; 
 come at once." 
 
 She did not say any more, "nor make the least re 
 sistance. They left the office together. They trod 
 softly on the gravel path which led to the main 
 entrance of the old house. They both entered the 
 hall side by side. Hetty looked pale and untidy ; 
 her hair fell partly down her back ; there were un- 
 dried tears on her cheeks ; her eyes had a wild aod
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 205 
 
 startled gleam in them ; the Squire was also deadly 
 pale, but he was quiet and composed. The fierce 
 struggle which had nearly rent his soul in two was 
 completely over at that moment. In the calm there 
 was also peace, and the peace had settled on his 
 face. 
 
 Mrs. Henessey was standing in the wide entrance 
 hall. She started when she saw her brother; then 
 she glanced at Hetty, then she looked again at the 
 Squire. 
 
 "Why, Robert!" she said, "Robert!" 
 
 There was an expression about Hetty's face and 
 about Awdrey's face which silenced and frightened 
 her. 
 
 " What is it?" she said in a low voice,, a what is 
 wrong?" 
 
 "Where are the others?" asked the Squire. "I 
 want to see them all immediately." 
 
 " They are in the front drawing-room Margaret, 
 Dr. Rumsey, Dorothy, my husband and Dorothy's, 
 and Margaret's uncle, Mr. Cuthbert." 
 
 " I am glad he is there ; we shall want a magis 
 trate," said Awdrey. 
 
 " A magistrate ! What is the matter?" 
 
 " You will know in a moment, Anne. Did you 
 say Rumsey was in the drawing-room?" 
 
 " Yes ; they are all there. Margaret is playing 
 the "Moonlight Sonata" you hear it, don't you 
 through the closed doors she played so mourn 
 fully that I ran away I hate music that affects me 
 to tears."
 
 296 DR. RUMSJBY'8 PATIENT. 
 
 Awdrey bent down and said a word to Hetty 
 then he looked at his sister. 
 
 " I am going into the drawing-room, and Hetty 
 Vincent will come with me," he said. 
 
 "I used to know you as Hetty Armitage,** said 
 Anne. "How are you, Hetty?" 
 
 " She is not well," answered Awdrey for her, " but 
 she will tell you presently. Come into the draw 
 ing-room, too, Anne; I should like you to be 
 present." 
 
 "I cannot understand this," said Anne. She ran 
 on first and opened the great folding-doors she 
 entered the big room, her face ablaze with excite 
 ment and wonder behind her came Awdrey hold 
 ing Hetty's hand. There was an expression on the 
 Squire's face which arrested the attention of every 
 one present. Mr. Cuthbert, who had not seen him 
 since his return home, rose eagerly from the deep 
 arm-chair into which he had sunk, intending to give 
 him a hearty welcome, but when he had advanced 
 in the Squire's direction a step or two, he paused 
 he seemed to see by a sort of intuition that the 
 moment for ordinary civilities was not then. Mar 
 garet left her seat by the piano and came almost 
 into the centre of the room. Her husband's eyes 
 seemed to motion her back her uncle went up to 
 her and put his hand on her shoulder; he did not 
 know what he expected, nor did Margaret, but each 
 one in the room felt with an electric thrill of sym 
 pathy that a revelation of no ordinary nature was 
 about to be made.
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 29* 
 
 Still holding Hetty's hand, Awdrey came into 
 the great space in front of the fireplace ; he was 
 about to speak when Bumsey came suddenly for 
 ward. 
 
 " One moment," he said. " This young woman 
 is very ill; will some one fetch brandy?" He took 
 Hetty's slight wrist between his finger and thumb, 
 and felt the fluttering pulse. 
 
 Anne rushed away to get the brandy. The doc 
 tor mixed a small dose, and made Hetty swallow 
 it. The stimulant brought back a faint color to 
 her cheeks, and her eyes looked less dull and dazed. 
 
 " I have come into this room to-night with Hetty 
 Vincent, who used to be Hetty Armitage, to make 
 a very remarkable statement," said Awdrey. 
 
 Bumsey backed a few steps. He thought to him 
 self : " We shall get now to the mystery. He has 
 made up his mind on the side of the good brave 
 fellow! What can all this mean? What is the 
 matter with that pretty girl? She looks as if she 
 were dying. What can be the connection between 
 them?" 
 
 *What can be the connection between them?" 
 was also the thought running in the minds of every 
 other spectator. Margaret shared it, as her uncle's 
 hand rested a little heavier moment by moment on 
 her slight shoulder. Squire Cuthbert was swear 
 ing heavily under his breath. The sisters and their 
 husbands stood in the background, prepared for 
 any "denouement" all was quietness and expec 
 tancy. Mrs. Everett, who up to the present instant
 
 298 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 had taken no part in the extraordinary scene, hur 
 ried now to the front. 
 
 "Squire," she said, "I don't know what you are 
 going to say, but I can guess. In advance, how 
 ever, I thank you from my heart; a premonition 
 seizes me that the moment of my son's release is 
 at hand. You have got this young woman to reveal 
 her secret?" 
 
 "Her secret is mine,** said Awdrey. 
 
 Squire Cuthbert swore aloud. 
 
 * Just wait one moment before you say anything," 
 said Awdrey, fixing his eyes on him. "The thing 
 is not what you imagine. I can tell the truth in 
 half-a-dozen words. Mrs. Everett, you are right 
 you see the man before you who killed Horace 
 Frere on Salisbury Plain. Tour son is innocent." 
 
 "My God! You did this?" said Mrs. Everett. 
 
 " Robert, what are you saying?" cried Margaret. 
 
 " Robert I" echoed Anne. 
 
 "Dear brother, you must be mad!" exclaimed 
 Dorothy. 
 
 " No, I am sane I am sure I was mad for a time, 
 but now I am quite sane to-night. I killed Horace 
 Frere on Salisbury Plain. Hetty Vincent saw the 
 murder committed; she hid her knowledge for my 
 sake. Immediately after I committed the deed the 
 doom of my house fell upon me, and I forgot what 
 I myself had done. For five years I had no memory 
 of my own act. Rumsey, when I saw my face re 
 flected in the pond, six months ago, the knowledge 
 of the truth returned to me. I remembered what
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 290 
 
 I had done. I remembered, and I was not sorry, 
 and I resolved to hide the truth to the death ; my 
 conscience, the thing which makes the difference 
 between man and beast, never awoke within me I 
 was happy and I kept well. But yesterday yes 
 terday when I came home and saw my people and 
 saw Hetty here, and noticed the look of suffering 
 on your face, Mrs. Everett, the voice of God began 
 to make itself heard. From that moment until now 
 my soul and the powers of evil have been fighting 
 against the powers of good. I was coward enough 
 to think that I might hide the truth and suffer, and 
 live the life of a hypocrite." The Squire's voice, 
 which had been quite quiet and composed, faltered 
 now for the first time. "It could not be done," he 
 added. "I found I could not close with the 
 devil." 
 
 At this moment a strange thing happened. Aw- 
 drey's wife rushed up to him, she flung her arms 
 round his neck, and laid her head on his breast. 
 
 " Thank God !" she murmured. u Nothing mat 
 ters, for you have saved your soul alive." 
 
 Awdrey pushed back his wife's hair, and kissed 
 her on her forehead. 
 
 " But this is a most remarkable thing," said Mr. 
 Cuthbert, finding his tongue, and coming forward. 
 "You, Awdrey you, my niece's husband, come 
 quietly into this room and tell us with the utmost 
 coolness that you are a murderer. I cannot believe 
 it you must be mad." 
 
 "No, I am perfectly sane. Hetty Yincent can
 
 300 J)R. RUMSET'S PATIENT. 
 
 prove the truth of my words. I am a murderer, 
 but not by intent. I never meant to kill Frero; 
 nevertheless, I am a murderer, for I have taken a 
 man's life." 
 
 " You tell me this ?" said Squire Cuthbert. * You 
 tell me that you have suffered another man to suffer 
 in your stead for close on six years." 
 
 "Unknowingly, Squire Cuthbert. There was a 
 blank over my memory." 
 
 "I can testify to that," said Rumsey, now coming 
 forward. "The whole story is so astounding, so 
 unprecedented, that I am not the least surprised at 
 your all being unable to make a just estimate of the 
 true circumstances at the present moment. Never 
 theless, Awdrey tells the simple truth. I have 
 watched him as my patient for years. I have given 
 his case my greatest attention. I consider it one 
 of the most curious psychological studies which 
 has occurred in the whole of my wide experience. 
 Awdrey killed Horace Frere, and forgot all about 
 it. The deed was doubtless done in a moment of 
 strong irritation." 
 
 tt He was provoked to it," said Hetty, speaking 
 for the first time. 
 
 u It will be necessary that you put all that down 
 in writing," said Rumsey, giving her a quick 
 glance. " Squire, I begin to see a ghost of day 
 light. It is possible that you may be saved from 
 the serious consequences of your own act, if it can 
 be proved before a jury that you committed the 
 terrible deed as a means of self-protection."
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 * It was for that, " said Hetty again. " I can teU 
 exactly what I saw." 
 
 The excited people who were listening to this 
 narrative now began to move about and talk eager 
 ly and rapidly. Eumsey alone altogether kept his 
 head. He saw how ill Hetty was, and how all-im 
 portant her story would be if there was any chance 
 of saving Awdrey. It must be put in writing with 
 out delay. 
 
 "Come and sit here," he said, taking the girl's 
 hand and leading her to a chair. All the others 
 shrank away from her, but Mrs. Everett, whose 
 eyes were blazing with a curious combination of 
 passionate anger and wild, exultant joy, came close 
 up to her for a moment. 
 
 "Little hypocrite little spy!" she hissed. 
 Don't forget that you have committed perjury. 
 Your sentence will be a severe one." 
 
 "Hush," said Rumsey, "is this a moment ?" 
 A look in his eyes silenced the widow she shrank 
 away near one of the windows to relieve her over 
 charged feelings in a burst of tears. 
 
 " Sit here and tell me exactly what you saw," 
 said Eumsey to Hetty. "Mr. Cuthbert, you are 
 doubtless a magistrate?" 
 
 " Bless my stars, I don't know what I am at the 
 present moment," said the worthy Squire, mopping 
 his crimson brow. 
 
 " Try to retain your self-control remember how 
 much hangs on it. This young woman is very ill 
 it will be all important that we get her deposition
 
 302 DR. HUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 before " Rumsey paused; Hetty's eyes were 
 
 fixed on his face, her lips moved faintly. 
 
 " You may save the Squire after all if you tell 
 the simple truth," said Rumsey kindly, bending 
 toward her and speaking in a low voice. " Try and 
 tell the simple truth. I know you are feeling ill, 
 but you will be better afterward. Will you tell me 
 exactly what happened? I shall put it down in 
 writing. You will then sign your own deposition." 
 
 "I'll tell the truth," said Hetty "is it the case 
 that if I tell just the truth I may save Squire?" 
 
 "It is his only chance. Now begin." 
 
 The others crowded round when Hetty began to 
 speak; all but Mrs. Everett, who still sat in the 
 window, her face buried in her handkerchief. 
 
 Hetty began her tale falteringly, often trembling 
 and often pausing, but Rumsey managed to keep 
 her to the point. By and by the whole queer story 
 was taken down and was then formally signed and 
 sworn to. Rumsey finally folded up the paper and 
 gave it to Squire Cuthbert to keep. 
 
 " I have a strong hope that we may clear Awdrey , " 
 he said. a The case is a clear one of manslaughter 
 which took place in self-defence. Mrs. Vincent's 
 deposition is most important, for it not only shows 
 that Awdrey committed the unfortunate deed under 
 the strongest provocation, but explains exactly why 
 Frere should have had such animosity to the Squire. 
 Now, Mrs. Vincent, you have rendered a very valu 
 able service, and as you are ill we cannot expect 
 you to do anything further to-night."
 
 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 303 
 
 Here Rumsey looked full at Margaret. 
 
 "I think this young woman far too unwell to 
 leave the house," he said "can you have a room 
 prepared for her here?" 
 
 "Certainly," said Margaret; she went up to 
 Hetty and laid one of her hands on her shoulder. 
 
 " Before Hetty leaves the room, there is some 
 thing to be said on her own account," said the 
 Squire. 
 
 He then related in a few words the tragedy which 
 had taken place at the Gable Farm. While he was 
 speaking, Hetty suddenly staggered to her feet and 
 faced them. 
 
 "If what I have told to-night will really save 
 you, Squire, then nothing else matters," she said; 
 "I'm not af eared now, for ef I 'ave saved you at 
 last, nothing matters," her face grew ghastly 
 white, she tumbled in a heap to the floor. 
 
 The doctor, Margaret, and the Squire rushej to 
 her assistance, but when they raised her up she 
 was dead. 
 
 "Heart disease," said Kumsey, afterward, "ac 
 celerated by shock." 
 
 
 
 A few more words can finish this strange story. 
 At the Squire's own request, Mr. Cuthbert took 
 the necessary steps for his arrest, and Buuusey 
 hurried to town to get the interference of the Home 
 Secretary in the case of Everett, who was suffering 
 for Awdrey's supposed crime in Portland prison. 
 The doctor had a long interview with one of tb
 
 304 DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT. 
 
 officials at the Home Office, and disclosed all tha 
 queer circumstances of the case. Everett, accord 
 ing to the Queen's Prerogative, received in due 
 course a free pardon for the crime he had never 
 committed, and was restored to his mother and his 
 friends once again. 
 
 Awdrey's trial took place almost immediately 
 afterward at Salisbury. The trial was never for 
 gotten in that part of the country, and was the one 
 topic of conversation for several days in the length 
 and breadth of England. So remarkable and 
 strange a case had never before been propounded 
 for the benefit of the jury, but it was evident that 
 the very learned Judge who conducted the trial was 
 from the first on the side of the prisoner. 
 
 Hetty's all-important deposition made a great 
 sensation; her evidence was corroborated by Mrs. 
 Armitage, and when Kumsey appeared as a witness 
 he abundantly proved that Awdrey had completely 
 forgotten the deed of which he had been guilty. 
 His thrilling description of his patient's strange 
 case was listened to with breathless attention by a 
 crowded court. The trial lasted for two days, dur 
 ing which the anxiety of all Awdrey's friends can 
 be better imagined than described. At the end of 
 the trial, the Jury returned a verdict of "Not 
 Guilty.** In short, his strange case had been 
 abundantly proved : he had done what he did with 
 out intent to kill and simply as a means of self- 
 defence. 
 
 Qn the evening of his return to Grandcourt, he
 
 DR. RUMSEY'8 PATIENT. 305 
 
 and Margaret stood in the porch together side by 
 side. It was a moonlight night, and the whole 
 beautiful place was brightly illuminated. 
 
 " Robert," said the wife, " you have lived 
 through it all you will now take a fresh lease of 
 life." 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " It is true that I have gone through the fire and 
 been saved," he said, " but there is a shadow over 
 toe I can never be the man I might have been." 
 
 " You can be a thousand times better," she re 
 plied with flashing eyes, " for you have learned now 
 the bitter and awful lesson of how a man may fall, 
 rise again, and in the end conquer." 
 
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