Chapter XXXIV: Walking Out to Dinner

If Mrs. Darling's hurried visit to England was caused by the fact of the repairs in progress at her cottage, being at a standstill, the repairs must be at a standstill yet; for the lady did not go farther than Castle Wafer. On the morning following her arrival, Sir Isaac politely asked whether she would not remain a few days with them before going on; and Mrs. Darling took him at his word and did remain. Georgina also remained, and things seemed to go on very smoothly and quietly, but Mrs. Carleton remained a great deal in her own room; and to Mr. Frederick St. John's eyes her mother's face wore a strangely haggard, anxious look.

"Is Mrs. Carleton well?" he asked her one day.

"Quite well, thank you," responded Mrs. Darling, stooping, as she spoke, to pluck a geranium.

"I have not liked her look at times," continued Frederick, boldly. "I was fearing she was not in--altogether good health."

"She is in excellent health," was the reply, and Mrs. Darling faced the speaker with a look intended to express surprise. "Charlotte was always strong. She and Rose are like myself, blessed with rude health: I cannot say as much for the other two. I want to take Charlotte away with me; but she does not feel inclined to come, and was quite angry when she saw me arrive. She is very happy here."

No more was said, for Mrs. Darling sauntered leisurely away. Frederick St. John had gained nothing by his move.

The dean, who had written to Mr. Pym, received in due course that gentleman's answer. Mr. Norris, of Norris Court, had died mad. The widow, subsequently Mrs. Darling, had hushed the matter up for the sake of her child, and succeeded in keeping it secret. He, Mr. Pym, had never disclosed it to mortal ears; but the high character of the Dean of Westerbury was such that he knew he might safely confide the fact to him. Indeed, from the tenour of the dean's letter, he felt there might be some essential reason for not remaining silent.

"You see," cried Frederick, when the dean showed him the letter, "I was right."

"Nay," dissented the dean. "Right as to your suspicion that madness was in the family; but this does not prove that it has yet attacked Mrs. Carleton."

"I suppose it would not prove it to most minds; it does to mine, in a very great degree. You will at least admit that this renders her a most undesirable wife for Isaac."

"Granted. But, Frederick, my opinion is that Sir Isaac is in just as much danger from her as you are, and no more. Rely upon it he has no idea of marrying."

Frederick was silent. In a sense he agreed with the dean; but he knew how subtle is the constant companionship of a designing and attractive woman; and that the danger was all the greater where that companionship had been previously held aloof from, as in the case of Sir Isaac.

Two or three days passed on, and nothing occurred to disturb the peace even of fanciful Frederick St. John. The old routine of life was observed at Castle Wafer, varied with visits to the Rectory, or with the Rectory's visits back again. But for the suspicion he was making so great a trouble of, Mr. St. John would have felt supremely happy. A strangely bright feeling was stealing over him; a feeling whose source he did not question or analyze. The influence of Georgina was quietly making its way in his heart; perhaps, unconsciously to himself, it had ever in a degree lain there.

Mrs. Darling sat in her room, writing letters. Mrs. Carleton was with her, looking from the window, the folds of her silver-grey brocade rustling with every movement. She wore very slight mourning now.

"Charlotte, my dear child," suddenly cried Mrs. Darling, "I am writing to the cottage. Let me once again ask you when you will be ready to go with me?"

"Never--to Alnwick. When I left the cottage to become George St. John's wife, I left it, as a residence, for ever."

"Where _will_ you go? Will you go into Berkshire?--will you go to London?--to Brighton?--to Paris? Only say where--I don't wish to force you to Alnwick."

"Mamma, I beg you not to worry me on this point. I am very comfortable at Castle Wafer, and you need not try to force me away from it. It is lost labour."

Mrs. Darling made no reply. It would have been useless. All her life she had found it "lost labour" to endeavour to force Charlotte to do anything against her will; and sometimes she felt the yoke upon her was a very heavy one. She bent over her writing again in silence. Presently Charlotte spoke, abruptly:

"How long is that girl going to remain here?" Mrs. Darling's train of thought just then was roaming to many things, pleasant or unpleasant, and she thought "that girl" must mean Honour Tritton. Charlotte's eyes were ablaze with light at the mistake; and Mrs. Darling could have bitten her tongue out for her incaution in mentioning the name. What she next said, did not mend it.

"Charlotte, my darling, I really beg your pardon. I'm sure I don't know how I came to think of her, unless it was that I was talking to her this morning. You----"

"Talking to _her!_" came the imperative interruption. "I should like to know, mamma, what you can have to say to her. If every one had their deserts, Honour Tritton would be--would be---- What did she presume to say of me?"

"My dear Charlotte!" cried the unfortunate mother, half aghast at the tone in which the last sentence was spoken, "she did not presume to speak of you at all. It was only a casual meeting in one of the lower passages. She just dropped a curtsey, and asked how I was: that was all."

"She presumed to put herself in my way the other day, that woman; I know that," scornfully returned Mrs. Carleton. "But that it might be said I made too much of a trifle utterly beneath me, I should ask Sir Isaac to banish her from Castle Wafer."

"Oh, Charlotte! What, because she--she happened to meet you?"

"No. For the misery she wrought in the years gone by. I wonder what brought her _here_--why she came?"

Mrs. Darling had heard of the meeting with Honour on the stairs, and knew as much of the scene as though she had been present. She passed to another topic.

"Then it was of Miss Beauclerc you spoke, Charlotte?"

"It was of Miss Beauclerc. _I want to know what she stops here for_."

The low, impressive whisper in which this was spoken, astonished Mrs. Darling. What had Charlotte got in her head now?

"My dear, it cannot matter to you whether she stays here or whether she goes home."

"But it does matter: it matters very much. She is staying as a spy upon me."

"A spy? Charlotte!"

"She is. She is doing what she can to turn Sir Isaac against me."

"Oh, Charlotte! Indeed you are mistaken. I am quite sure she is doing nothing of the sort."

"I tell you yes. Look there!"

Mrs. Darling rose in obedience, and glanced from the window in the direction in which Charlotte had pointed. Georgina Beauclerc, in her flowing dinner-dress of a clear white muslin, was marching about with Sir Isaac, both her hands clasped upon his arm, her pretty head and its silken hair almost touching his face as she talked to him. That Sir Isaac was bending down to the fair head, a great deal of tender love in his face, might be discerned even at this distance.

"He promised to ride out with _me_ this afternoon; he was going on his pony, and I was to try Mr. St. John's grey horse, and she came and took him from me. He gave me up for her with scarcely a word of apology, and they have been away together for hours somewhere on foot. She cannot let him rest. The moment she is dressed for dinner, you see, she lures him to her side again. And you say she is not plotting against me?"

What could Mrs. Darling reply? The idea had taken possession of Charlotte, and she knew that no earthly argument would turn it by so much as a hair's-breadth. The shadow of a trouble that she should not have strength to combat fell upon her; and as Charlotte abruptly left the room, she took a letter from her pocket and read it with a gleam of thankfulness, for it told of the speedy arrival of one who might be of use.

Mrs. Carleton descended, glancing to the left and right of the broad staircase, into all its angles, over the gilded balustrades down on the inner hall, as had been her custom since that encounter with Honour. Not with open look, but with stealthy glance, as if she dreaded meeting the woman again. She went into the drawing-room, and stood gazing through the open window with covert glances, partially shielding herself behind the blue satin curtains. Georgina was on the terrace with Sir Isaac, and on them her regard was fixed. A gaze, evil, bitter, menacing. Her eyes shone with a lurid light, her lips were pale, and her hands were contracted as with irrepressible anger. In the midst of these unwholesome signs, as if instinct whispered to her that she was not alone, she turned and saw, quietly seated at a table near, and as quietly regarding her, Frederick St. John.

She came up to him at once, her brow smoothed to its ordinary impassiveness.

"What a warm afternoon it has been, Mr. St. John!"

"Very warm."

"You are ready for dinner early," she said, in allusion to his notably late appearance for that meal; often coming in after they had sat down to table.

"I don't dine at home today. I am going with Miss Beauclerc to the Rectory."

"And Sir Isaac also?" she quickly asked.

"I think not."

Sir Isaac and Georgina approached the window. They, with Frederick, had walked to the Rectory that afternoon, and the dean asked them to come in to dinner. It was very dull, he said, with only Miss Denison, who generally contrived to act as a wet blanket. So it was arranged that Georgina and Frederick should go; but Sir Isaac could not promise. It appeared that Georgina was now urging him to accompany them. Her voice was heard in the room.

"It is very uncharitable of you, Sir Isaac. You know what papa said it was for him, with that statue of a woman there. If _you_ were shut up in a house with a female Hottentot, and you asked papa to come in as a relief, he would not think of refusing."

"But I can't go," returned Sir Isaac, in laughing tones. "I told the dean that Mrs. St. John was not well enough to come down."

"And you will let me walk all that way without you! It's not kind, Sir Isaac. Suppose I get run away with? There may be kidnappers in the shrubbery."

"You will have a more efficient protector with you than I could make; one young and powerful--I am old and weak."

"Never old to me--never old to me. Oh, I _wish_ you would come!"

"I wish I could, Georgina; you know that when you leave me, half my sunshine goes also. But I must head the table at home, in the absence of Mrs. St. John: I cannot leave my visitors."

"Tiresome people!" apostrophized Georgina, in allusion to the lady visitors. "I know you would rather be with us. I shall tell papa that if he is fixed with Miss Denison, you are fixed with Mrs. Carleton. I don't see how you would get through your days with her just now, if it were not for me."

She stepped into the room, a saucy expression on her charming face; a loving smile on Sir Isaac's. Mrs. Carleton was in time to catch a glimpse of each as she swiftly glided away in the distance; and neither had the remotest suspicion that their conversation had been overheard.

Frederick St. John rose. "I think we shall be late, Georgina."

"Shall we! I shall say it was your fault," cried the happy girl, as she caught up her white mantle and straw hat from a chair. "I'm ready now."

"Won't you put your cloak on?"

"No. I am only taking it to come back in tonight. You may carry it for me."

She placed it on his arm; and with her face shaded only by her little dainty parasol, they went out. Mrs. Carleton was at one of the other windows watching the departure.

"Do you know the time, Georgina?" he asked.

"Oh--more than five, I suppose."

He held his watch towards her. It wanted only twenty-five minutes to six. "Of course you can say it is my fault if you like; but Mrs. Beauclerc will be excessively angry with both of us."

"Not as angry as Miss Denison will be," returned Georgina, laughingly. "Fanciful old creature! saying she gets indigestion if she dines later than half-past five. If I were papa, I should let her dine alone, and order the regular dinner at seven. See how quickly she'd come to her senses."

"If you were your papa you'd do just as he does" cried Frederick. "And when you have a house of your own, Georgina, you will be just as courteous as he is."

"Shall I? Not to Miss Denison. But I should take care not to have disagreeable people staying with me. I wouldn't have Mrs. Carleton, for instance."

"Do you think Mrs. Carleton disagreeable?" he asked. "I have heard you say you liked her."

"So I did at first. I pitied her. But she gets very disagreeable. She looks at me sometimes as if she would like to kill me, and--see what she did yesterday."

Georgina extended her wrist towards her companion. There was a blue mark upon it, as from pressure.

"How did she do this!" he exclaimed, examining the wrist.

"Not purposely, of course; that is, not intending to hurt me, I differed from her: it was about going out with Sir Isaac. She said it was too hot for me, and I said the hotter the pleasanter; and she caught me by the wrist as I was running away. I cried out with the pain; indeed it was very sharp; and Sir Isaac heard it outside and looked back. She laughed then, and so did I, and I ran away. This morning I saw that my wrist had turned blue."

"Did you tell Isaac of this?"

"I don't remember. Stay, though--I think I told him Mrs. Carleton had been preaching morality to me, as connected with sunstrokes and freckles," continued the careless girl "Please loose my hand, Mr. St. John."

He released her hand, saying nothing. Georgina floated on by his side, her blue ribbons and her fair hair flashing in the setting sun as they passed through the shrubbery.

"I think she must be frequently out of temper," continued Georgina, alluding still to Mrs. Carleton. "Did you see her as we passed the window just now? She looked so cross at me."

"I presume she thinks she has cause for it," observed Mr. St. John.

"What cause?"

"She is jealous of you."

"Jealous of me?"

"Of you and Sir Isaac."

Georgina's grey eyes opened to their utmost width as she stared at the speaker.

"Jealous of me and Sir Isaac? Why, what could put such an idea into her stupid head? How _could_ she be jealous of me, in relation to Sir Isaac? She might as well be jealous of papa."

"I suppose she thinks that she, as chief guest, ought to receive more of the host's attention than any one else," he said, not caring to be more explanatory. "And therefore she does not like your monopolizing Isaac."

"Oh!" cried Georgina, turning up her pretty nose. "I declare I thought you meant it in another light. I'll take up Sir Isaac's attention all tomorrow, just to tease her."

He made no reply. He was thinking. It had not been his fault that Georgina's stay at Castle Wafer was prolonged; but he had seen no feasible way of preventing it. And yet there was always an undercurrent in his heart--a wish that she was away from it, beyond the risk of any possible harm.

"Please put the mantle over my shoulders, Mr. St. John."

"Ah, you are getting cold! You should have put it on at first."

"Getting cold this warm afternoon! Indeed no. But in one minute we shall be in the Rectory grounds, liable to meet mamma or her charming guest. They would sing a duet all dinner-time at my walking here in nothing but my dinner-dress. Miss Denison comes out before dinner, and creeps round the paths for half-an-hour. She calls it 'taking her constitutional.' Thank you; she can't find fault now."

Mrs. Beauclerc was a fretful lady of forty-five; Miss Denison was a fretful lady of somewhat more: and Georgina was greeted with a shower of reproaches, for having kept dinner waiting. She laid the blame on Mr. St. John; and Miss Denison looked daggers at him to her heart's content.

"I could not make him believe you were dining at the gothic hour of half-past five," cried the imperturbable girl. "The more I told him to hasten the less he did so. And, mamma, Mrs. St. John says will we all go to Castle Wafer for the evening."

She stole a glance at him. He was standing calm, upright; a half-tender, half-reproving look cast upon her for her nonsense. But he contradicted nothing.

The dean and Mr. St. John were sitting alone after dinner, when a servant came in and said a gentleman was asking if he could see Dr. Beauclerc. The dean inquired who it was, but the servant did not know: when he requested the name, the gentleman said he would tell it himself to the doctor.

"You can show him in here," said the dean, who was one of the most accessible men living.

The servant retired, and ushered in a little grey-haired man in spectacles. The dean did not recognize him: Frederick St. John did, and with some astonishment. It was Mr. Pym of Alnwick.

He explained to the dean that a little matter of business had brought him into the neighbourhood, and he had taken the opportunity (following on the slight correspondence which had just taken place between them) to call on Dr. Beauclerc. Dr. Beauclerc--who was not addressed as "Mr. Dean" out of his cathedral city as much as he was in it--inquired how long he had been in the neighbourhood, and found he had only just arrived by the evening train,--had come straight to the Rectory from the station.

A suspicion crossed the dean's mind, and he spoke in accordance with it. "Did Mr. Pym come from Alnwick on purpose to see him?"

"No," said the little surgeon, taking the glass of wine the dean passed to him, but declining other refreshment. "I have been summoned to the neighbourhood of Lexington to see a patient; and as I was on the spot, I thought I would call upon you, Dr. Beauclerc. My chief motive in doing so," he added, after a brief pause, "was to inquire whether you had any particular reason for asking me those questions."

The dean looked at Frederick St. John, as much as to say, Shall we, or shall we not confide in this medical man?

"I do not inquire from motives of idle curiosity, Dr. Beauclerc," resumed the surgeon, marking the dean's hesitation. "Believe me, I have an urgent reason for wishing to know."

"Better tell him everything," cried Frederick, who had read the dean's look, and was vehement in his earnestness. "I am sure Mr. Pym may be trusted; and perhaps he can help us with his advice."

"Very well," said the dean. "But you know, Frederick, the suspicion is more yours than mine."

"Yes, yes; I take it all upon myself," was the young man's impatient answer, so fearful was he of losing this new ally. "Mr. Pym, you have known Mrs. Carleton St. John all her life, have you not? She was Charlotte Norris."

"Yes, it may be said that I have known her all her life. I brought her into the world."

"Well, a disagreeable suspicion has recently come upon us in regard to her--upon me, that is. An awful suspicion; one that I do not like to mention."

"What is it?" cried the surgeon.

"I fear that she is showing symptoms of insanity."

Frederick St. John looked at Mr. Pym as he spoke, expecting a start of surprise. Far from evincing any, that gentleman quietly raised his wine to his lips, sipped it, and put the glass down again.

"Ah," said he. "Well?"

Then Mr. St. John poured forth his tale. He who was usually almost coldly impassive, who had every tone of his voice, every pulse of his veins under control, seemed this evening to have become all impulse and excitement. But in telling his story, he grew gradually calm and cool.

Mr. Pym listened in silence. At the conclusion of the story he waited a minute or two, apparently expecting to hear more, but the narrator had ceased. He spoke then.

"You are sure about that telegram--that it was Prance who sent it?"

"Quite sure. There can be no mistake about that."

"A cautious woman," observed the surgeon. "She mentioned no name. You see it might have applied to any one as much as to Mrs. Carleton."

"The very remark I made," interposed the dean, and it was the first word he had spoken. "I tell Mr. St. John that the symptoms and facts he thinks so much of are very slight."

"Too slight to pronounce any one insane upon," said the doctor. "Will you be so good as tell me, Mr. St. John, what _first_ gave rise to suspicion in your mind? It is a rare thing, however eccentric our friends' actions may be, for us to take up the notion that they are insane."

"What first gave rise to the suspicion in my mind?" repeated Frederick. "Why, I don't suppose I ever should have thought of it but for--but I forgot to tell you that," he broke off, suddenly remembering that he had omitted to mention what Rose Darling had told him at Belport.

He related it now. The assertions of the nurse Brayford that Mrs. Carleton was mad; her terror at the sight of the lighted lanterns in the Flemish town on St. Martin's Eve. Still Mr. Pym said nothing: he only took out a note-book and entered something in it.

"Can you not help us, Mr. Pym? Do you not think she must be insane?"

"I cannot say that. But I may tell you that I have always feared it for her."

"Her father died mad, you wrote word to the dean."

"He died raving mad. You have confided in me, and I see no reason why I should not tell you all I know--premising, of course, that it must not be repeated. His madness, as I gathered at the time, was hereditary; but he had been (unlike his daughter) perfectly well all his life, betraying no symptoms of it. I was sent for in haste one night to Norris Court. I was only a young man then--thirty, perhaps; I'm turned sixty now. My predecessor and late partner, Mr. Jevons, had been the usual attendant there, but he had retired from business, and was very infirm. I thought I was wanted for Mrs. Norris, whom I was to attend in her approaching confinement; but when I reached the Court, I found what it was. Mr. Norris had suddenly become mad; utterly, unmistakably mad; and Mrs. Norris, poor thing, was nearly as much so with terror. He had always been of a remarkably jealous disposition; some slight incident had caused him to become that day jealous of his wife, without, I am certain, the least foundation, and after an awful scene, he attempted her life with his razor. In her endeavour to escape from him, she dashed her hand through a mirror, whether accidentally or purposely she could not afterwards remember. Never shall I forget her dismay and terror when I reached the Court. Her husband was tolerably quiet then; exhausted, no doubt, from violence; and his own man, James, was keeping guard over him. That night we had to put him into a strait-waistcoat. Mrs. Norris, poor young lady--and she was not twenty then--cried most bitterly as she told me the tale of her husband's jealousy. She could not imagine what had given rise to it. She had only received some gentleman, a friend of theirs who had often called, and had sat and talked with him in the drawing-room, as she would with any other visitor; but the jealousy, as I explained to her, preceded the attack of madness. In three or four days the child Charlotte was born. I took the baby in to Mr. Norris, thinking it might possibly have a soothing effect upon him. It had just the contrary--though it is unnecessary to recall minor particulars now. He had seemed better that day, quite collected, and his servant had removed the strait-waistcoat. An accession of violence came on at sight of the child; he sprang out of bed and attempted to seize it; I put the baby down under the bed, while I helped James to overpower his master; but it was the hardest struggle I had ever been engaged in. Mr. Norris never was calm afterwards, and died in a few days, raving mad."

"But," interrupted the dean, "how was it possible to keep this state of things from transpiring in the house? The domestics understood, I believe, that their master died of fever."

"True, Dr. Beauclerc. Fortunately the room to which Mr. Norris was taken was shut in by other surrounding apartments, and no sound penetrated beyond it. The servants were kept away by a hint of infection; a confidential man from an asylum was had in to assist James and take turn in watching--the servants supposing him to be merely a sick-nurse. Poor Mrs. Norris entreated for her child's sake that the nature of its father's malady might be suppressed, if possible; and the secret was kept. Whether it was well in the long-run that it should be so kept, I have often asked myself."

Mr. Pym paused in thought. Frederick St. John interrupted it.

"You say this madness was hereditary?"

"Mr. Jevons managed to get to the Court when he found what had happened. It appeared that some near relatives of Mr. Norris--two, I think--had died abroad, insane. Mr. Norris was aware of this, and had been fond of talking of it to Mr. Jevons: the latter thought he had feared the malady for himself. He had used to say that he should never marry; and that resolution Mr. Jevons emphatically endorsed. However, he did marry, and, of course, Mr. Jevons had no power to prevent it. These particulars I learned of Mr. Jevons as I was driving him to the Court. Mrs. Norris begged to be made acquainted with all details; and after her husband's death Mr. Jevons disclosed them to her, suppressing nothing. What a changed woman she was from that time! and I believe would then have been thankful had her baby died. 'It must be my care to prevent its marrying, should it live to grow up,' she said to Mr. Jevons in my presence; and ten times over during that one interview she begged him to tell her whether he thought the child would inherit the fatal disease."

"But the child did marry," interrupted the dean. "Married Mr. Carleton St. John."

"Yes. I believe Mrs. Darling did try to prevent it, but it was of no use. Whilst she concealed the reason, arguments could not fail to prove powerless. It might have been better--I don't know--had she allowed her daughter to become acquainted with the truth. My opinion is, that Charlotte has more than once, even before her marriage, been on the verge of insanity. In her attacks of temper the violence displayed was very great for a person perfectly sane."

"Did Mrs. Darling ever attempt to excuse this violence to you?"

"Mrs. Darling has never spoken to me on the subject at all since her first husband's death," replied Mr. Pym. "She has ignored it. But for an expression at times in her face, I might suppose she fancied that all recollection of the tragedy had faded from my mind. When I heard that George St. John was about to marry Miss Norris, I called on Mrs. Darling, and in the course of conversation I said, incidentally, as it were, 'Will this marriage be for your daughter's benefit, think you?' and she seemed offended, and said, Of course it would--what did I mean?"

"Could you not"--Frederick St. John hesitated as he spoke--"have whispered a word of warning to Mr. George St. John?"

"I suppose not. The thought crossed me, but I could not see that I was justified in carrying it out. Had Mrs. Darling met me in a different manner, I might have ventured. I don't think it would have done any good, though. George St. John was in love with Miss Norris, or fancied himself so; and would most likely have married her in spite of caution."

"In her life, subsequently to her marriage, were there at any time indications of insanity?"

"I feel tempted to say there were, though I could not bear witness to it in a court of law," was the reply of Mr. Pym. "One thing is indisputable--that she inherited her father's jealousy of disposition. I don't know what it might have been in him; but in her it was in excess so great as to be in itself a species of madness. She was not, that I ever heard, jealous of her husband; it displayed itself in her jealous love for her child. Until he was born, I don't think she had one of those paroxysms of violence that those about her called 'temper.' George St. John could not understand them. These fits of passion, coupled with the fierce jealousy that was beyond all reason, all parallel in my experience, were very like madness."

There was a pause. Frederick St. John broke it with a question.

"Did you suspect--I mean, was there any cause to suspect--that she had a hand in the little boy's death--Benja's?"

"I did suspect it. That is, I doubted whether it might not be so," said Mr. Pym, in low tones. "There was an ugly point in the matter that I have never liked--that of the doors being fastened. But I am bound to say there was no proof against her. Still I could not get rid of my doubts, and I think her mother entertained them also."

"Mrs. Darling!"

"I think so. We both caught each other in the act of trying whether the bolt would slip when the door closed, in the manner asserted. You see, when a suspicion of insanity attaches to a man or woman, we are prone to imagine things that we should never think of doing under ordinary circumstances."

"Very true," emphatically assented the dean.

"The most bitter person upon the tragedy was Honour; it was only natural she should be so; but even she did not suspect Mrs. Carleton. She spoke against her in her ravings, but ravings go for nothing. If Honour suspected any one, it was Prance rather than Mrs. Carleton."

"Prance!" echoed Mr. St. John.

"She told some tale, at the time, of having seen Prance hiding in a niche of the corridor, opposite the nursery door. I did not think much of it, from the state of confusion in which Honour must then have been; and Prance denied it _in toto_: said she had never been there."

"Then you cannot give me any help?" said Frederick St. John, in tones of disappointment. "You are unable to bear out my suspicions of her present madness?"

"How can I bear them out?" asked Mr. Pym. "I have not seen her."

Frederick drummed for a minute on the table. "Don't you think it strange that Prance should telegraph for Mrs. Darling in the manner she did, and that Mrs. Darling should hasten to respond to it--on the wings of the wind, as one may say--and stay on at Castle Wafer?"

"I do," was the surgeon's reply: "assuming that the message related to Mrs. Carleton, of which I suppose there can be no doubt. Mrs. Carleton is not ill in body; therefore it must have had reference to her mind."

"I wish you could see her!" impulsively spoke Frederick, "and watch her as I have done."

"I intend to see her," said Mr. Pym. "I thought of calling at once on Mrs. Darling; now, as I leave you."

"Do so," cried Frederick. "Contrive to remain a few days at Castle Wafer. You can say that you are my guest. Stay; I'll give you the invitation in a careless sort of way before them all tonight, and you can accept it."

"We will see about that," said the surgeon, rising. "I had better be going, if Dr. Beauclerc will excuse me, or it may look late to call. Perhaps you will direct me the nearest way to Castle Wafer."

"I will go with you," said Mr. St. John. "The nearest way is through the shrubberies. We shall be there in five minutes."

They went out together, the dean saying he would follow with the ladies, as they were all to spend the evening at Castle Wafer. But when the dean reached the drawing-room he found they had already gone, and he did not hurry himself.

It was a lovely moonlight night, clear and bright, and Mr. St. John and the surgeon commenced their walk, talking eagerly. Mr. St. John told him, what he had not liked to mention before the dean--Mrs. Carleton's jealousy of Miss Beauclerc; the occasional wildness of her eyes when she looked at her, and the little adventure in Georgina's chamber at midnight. "It is an awful responsibility that rests upon us," he remarked. "I feel it so, Mr. Pym, now that I have heard your story tonight. If her father went mad from jealousy, and attempted the life of his wife, Mrs. Carleton may be attempting some violence to Miss Beauclerc."

"Miss Beauclerc is young and good-looking, I suppose."

"Both; and her manners are perfectly charming. She is just the girl that would be obnoxious to a rival."

"It is all fancy, I presume, on Mrs. Carleton's part. There is nothing between Miss Beauclerc and Sir Isaac?"

Frederick St. John broke into a laugh. "Sir Isaac loves her as he would a child of his own; and she venerates him as a father. There is no other sort of love between them, Mr. Pym."

Mr. Pym took a side glance at the speaker. Something in the tone had struck him that some one else might be a lover of Miss Beauclerc's, if Sir Isaac was not.

"Even allowing that Mrs. Carleton has been sane hitherto, and my suspicion a myth, it would never do for her to marry Sir Isaac," resumed Frederick. "You would say so if you knew my brother and his extreme sensitiveness. The very thought of his wife being liable to insanity would be to him perfectly horrible."

"It would be to most people," said the doctor.

"I think he must be told now. I have abstained from speaking out hitherto, from a fear that my motives might be misconstrued. My brother, a confirmed old bachelor, has brought me up to consider myself his heir; and it would look as though I were swayed by self-interest."

"I understand," said the surgeon. "But he must be saved from Mrs. Carleton."

"I cannot bring myself to think that he is in real danger; I believe still that he has no thought of marrying, and never will have. But Mrs. Carleton is undeniably attractive, and stranger things have been known."

"The better plan would be to lay the whole case before Sir Isaac. It need not be yourself. I should suggest Dr. Beauclerc. And then----"

The surgeon ceased, arrested by the warning hand of Frederick. They had turned into the dark labyrinth of a place where the artificial rocks rose on the confines of the Rectory grounds. Georgina Beauclerc was walking very deliberately towards them. Not at her did Frederick lift his hand; but at a swift, dark figure, who was following her silently as a shadow, stealthily as an omen of evil. Frederick St. John sprang forward and clasped Georgina in his arms.

The dark figure turned suddenly and vanished; but not before its glaring eyes and its white teeth had been seen by the unwelcome intruder. He recognized Mrs. Carleton, her black lace shawl thrown over her head.

"Well, I'm sure!" exclaimed Georgina.

It all passed in an instant. Georgina had heard nothing, seen nothing; and she felt inclined to resent Mr. St. John's extraordinary movement, when the first surprise was over. He held her for a moment against his beating heart; beating more perceptibly than usual just then.

"What did you do that for? Were you going to smother me?"

"I did it to shield you from harm, my darling," he whispered, unconscious, perhaps, that he used the endearing term. Rarely had Frederick St. John been less himself than he was at that moment. Miss Beauclerc looked at him in surprise; in the midst of her bounding pulses, her glowing blushes, she saw that something had disturbed his equanimity.

"What are you doing out here alone?"

"You need not be cross"--and indeed his sharp quick question had sounded so. "As if I could not take a stroll by moonlight if I like! Perhaps you are afraid of the moon, as mamma is."

"But what were you doing? Had you come from Castle Wafer? You must not go out at night alone, Georgina."

"Oh indeed; who says so?" she returned, with wilful impertinence; but it was all put on to hide the ecstatic rapture his one word had brought to her. "If you must know, mamma and Miss Denison kept up such a chorus of abuse of me as we went to Castle Wafer, that I would not go on with them. I came slowly back to meet you and papa."

He had drawn her arm within his own, and was leading her back to the Rectory. She could hardly keep up with him.

"Where are you hurrying me to?"

"To the dean. He will take care of you to Castle Wafer."

It may be that she thought some one else might have taken care of her. But she said nothing. Just before they reached the Rectory door, Mr. St. John stopped under the shade of the laurels.

"Georgina, I must say a serious word to you. Put away nonsense for a minute, and hear me. I think I have saved you from a great danger; Will you make me a promise in return?"

"From a great danger!" she repeated, the words rendering her as serious as he was. "What danger? What can you mean?"

"I cannot tell precisely what danger, neither can I say more particularly what I mean. Nevertheless I think I am right. It is not good for you to be about alone just now, whether before nightfall or after it. You must give me your promise not to be so."

"What is there to harm me?" she whispered, involuntarily clinging more closely to his arm.

"Leave that with me for the present. Only trust me, and do as I say. Will you promise?"

"Yes, if there is a necessity for it. I promise you."

Her earnest face was raised in the moonlight. She had never seen him so solemn as now. He bent his head.

"Will you seal the compact, Georgina?"

Instinct, and the grave tender tone, told her what he meant. Her eyes filled with tears; but she did not draw her face away, and he left a kiss upon her lips.

"Mind, Georgina, that's as binding as an oath," he said, as he walked on. "Take care that you strictly keep your promise. There is urgent necessity why you should do so. Sometime I may tell you why, if you are good. I may be telling you all sorts of things besides."

Her face was bent to conceal its hot blushes. Heaven seemed suddenly to have opened for Georgina Beauclerc.

"Halloa!" cried the dean, as he met them in the hall. "I thought you had gone on with your mamma, Georgina."

"She came back to walk with you, sir," said Mr. St. John, only waiting to speak the words and then hastening away again.

Mr. Pym was standing near the rocks as he got up to him. "Where did you hide yourself?" cried Frederick. "You seemed to vanish into air. I could see you nowhere."

"I slipped behind here," answered the surgeon, indicating the rocks. "Was not one of those ladies Mrs. Carleton?"

"Yes."

"Well, I thought it might be as well for her not to see me here. I wish to call at Castle Wafer by accident, you understand."

Frederick St. John nodded. "Could you see her teeth and her glistening eyes? She was stealthily following Miss Beauclerc. _For what purpose?_ I am thankful we were here."

"Where is Miss Beauclerc now?"

"She is coming on with the dean. I have cautioned her not to go out alone. Mr. Pym, what is to be done? This state of things cannot be allowed to go on. I call upon you, as a good and true man, to aid us, if it be in your power."

Mr. Pym made no reply. He walked on in his favourite attitude, his hands clasped behind his back, just as he was walking in that sorrowful chamber, the evening you first beheld him; and his face wore, to Mr. St. John's thinking, a strangely troubled look in the moonlight.