"Leo, how could you do so foolish a thing?" said Mary Salis, a few days
later, as she sat by her sister's couch.
"What do you mean?" said Leo feebly.
"You know what I mean, dear. Is life so valueless that in a rash moment
you would have cast it away?"
"Do you suppose, then, that I tried to take my life?" cried Leo, in a
low, weak voice.
"Don't let's talk about it," said Mary, with a shudder; "unless it is in
sorrow."
"Why was it placed there?" said Leo, catching her sister's wrist.
"Placed there?"
"Yes. Was it Hartley's doing?"
"Hartley's doing?"
"Yes; the glass standing on my table as if it held water. Did Hartley
do it, Mary?"
"Is your mind wandering, dear?" said Mary, laying her cool hand upon her
sister's white forehead.
"No; I'm as calm as you are. Hartley must have placed it ready for me--
to get rid of his wicked sister, I suppose."
"Leo! Don't speak like that. How can you, dear? Hartley place a glass
for you!"
"Yes. I thought it was water, and I drank it."
"Hush, Leo, dear!"
"You don't believe me! Very well; I cannot help it. The stuff was
placed ready for me on the table, and I drank it."
Mary sighed, but she kept her cool, soft hand pressed upon her sister's
brow.
"Why do you stop here?" said Leo, at last.
"Because I wish to talk to you--to try and be of some help."
There was a silence which lasted some minutes, and then Leo turned her
fierce dark eyes sharply on her sister.
"You have kept back his letters," she said sternly.
"His letters!"
"Yes; he has written to me since I have been ill."
Mary shook her head, and Leo gazed full in her eyes to satisfy herself
that this was the truth.
"Has he sent to ask how I am?"
"No."
Leo closed her eyes, and lay back with her lips moving slightly, while
Mary watched and wondered whether North would come and see her sister
again, and whether any fresh eccentricity had been noticed.
Had she known all she would have been less calm.
That morning Cousin Thompson had come down, gone straight to the Manor,
and saluted Mrs Milt.
"Doctor in his room?"
"No, sir; master's ill."
"Not seriously?" said Cousin Thompson, with thoughts of being next of
kin.
"I don't know, sir," said the housekeeper. "Master certainly don't seem
as I should like to see him."
"Dear me!" said Cousin Thompson thoughtfully. "That's bad, Mrs Milt;
that's bad. However, I'll go up and see him."
The housekeeper shook her head.
"What do you mean, Mrs Milt?"
"I mean that I don't think he'll see you, sir."
"Oh, stuff and nonsense! Go and tell him I'm here."
The housekeeper went away, and came back in five minutes, looking
troubled.
"Master says you must excuse him, sir. That you are to please ask for
what you want, but he is too unwell to see you."
"Dear me, Mrs Milt; I'm sorry to hear this," said the solicitor, with a
look of commiseration. "But, then, he is a doctor, and must know his
symptoms. Has he had any one to see him?"
"No, sir."
"Then he is not very bad. I mean no doctor?"
"No, sir; no doctor."
"I didn't mean solicitor, Mrs Milt," said Cousin Thompson, laughing
unpleasantly. "Of course, if he required a solicitor he would send for
me, eh?"
"I suppose so, sir."
"He has not sent for a solicitor, of course--to make his will, eh?"
jocularly. "No, no; of course not."
"Perhaps you had better ask master about such things as that, sir," said
Mrs Milt, with asperity. "I know nothing about that."
"You do, you hag!" said Cousin Thompson to himself: "you do, or you
wouldn't be so eager to disclaim all knowledge of such an act--and deed.
This must be seen to, for I can't afford to have you coming between me
and my rights, madam. This must be seen to."
"What would you like to take, sir?"
"Anything, my dear Mrs Milt, anything. Too busy a man to trouble about
food. I'm going to see a client, and while I'm gone perhaps you will
get a snack ready for me."
"You will not sleep here, I suppose?"
"But I will sleep here, Mrs Milt," said Cousin Thompson, smiling. "I
do not feel as if I could go back to town without being able to take
with me the knowledge that my cousin is in better health."
"And not at the mercy of thieves and scheming people," he muttered, as
he went off to see Mrs Berens, as he put it, "_re_ shares."
North's bedroom bell rang violently as Cousin Thompson disappeared down
the road, and Mrs Milt went up to the door and knocked.
"Has that man gone?" came from within.
"Yes, sir."
"Bring up the brandy."
Mrs Milt uttered a sigh.
"May I bring you up a little broth, sir, too?" she whispered, with her
face close to the panel. "You've had nothing to-day, sir, and you must
be growing faint."
"Bring up the brandy!" roared North fiercely. "Do you hear?"
"And him to speak to me like that!" sighed the housekeeper, as she went
down for the spirit decanter; "and for him, too, who never took anything
but tea for days together, to be asking for brandy in this reckless way.
Five times have I filled up the spirit decanter this week."
She returned with the brandy and knocked.
No answer.
"I've brought the brandy, sir."
"Set it down."
"Can I speak to you, sir?"
There was a fierce stamp of the foot which made the jug rattle in the
basin on the washstand, and Mrs Milt set down the decanter close to the
door, and went down again, raising her apron to her eyes.
"I wouldn't have any one know how bad he is for the world," she sighed;
and, resisting the temptation to stand and watch the opening of the
door, the old lady went into her own room and shut herself in.
As the sound of the closing door rose to the upstair rooms, that of
North's chamber was cautiously opened and a hand was thrust out to go on
feeling about till it came in contact with the decanter, which it seized
and bore in, the door being reclosed as the hand and arm disappeared.
The room within was darkened, and the figure of Horace North looked
shadowy and strange as he walked hastily to and fro, now here, now
there, as some wild animal restlessly parades the sides of his cage.
He held the decanter in his hand, and seemed in no hurry to use the
spirit; but at last he set it down upon the dressing-table, drew the
curtain a little on one side, and went to the washstand, from which he
brought the water-bottle and tumbler.
As he poured out some of the spirit into a glass, the light shone full
upon his face, and he blinked as if his eyes were dazzled by the glare.
The decanter made a chattering noise against the glass till he rested
his trembling hand upon the side, ceased pouring, and closed his eyes
for a few moments to rest.
As he opened them again his gaze fell upon his reflection in the
dressing-glass upon the table, and he stood fixed to the spot, glaring
at the wild-looking object before him, with its sunken eyes, wrinkled
brow, and horrified, hunted, and frightened look.
He had seen such a face as that hundreds of times in the case of
patients suffering from some form of mania, generally in connection with
drink, and it petrified him for the time, for his brain refused to
accept the fact that he was gazing at his own reflection.
It was a strange scene in that darkened room, with the one broad band of
light shining in through the half-drawn curtain, falling upon that
haggard and ghastly face gazing at its counterpart, each displaying a
haunted look of horror--a dread so terrible that it explained North's
next action, which was to let fall decanter and glass with a crash upon
the floor, before slowly backing away right to the furthest portion of
the room, where he stood against the wall, panting heavily.
The curtain fell back, as if an invisible hand had held it for a time,
and once more the room was in semi-gloom, while the faint, sick odour of
the brandy gradually diffused itself through the place till it reached
the trembling man's nostrils and made him shudder.
"Like the smell of that place--like the smell of that place! Is this to
go on for ever?"
Again he determinedly argued the question, and felt that, failing to
arrest the decay of Luke Candlish, he had imbibed the essence of the man
which, needing a fleshy body in which to live, had possessed him, so
that his fate seemed to be that he must evermore lead a double life, in
which there was one soul under the control of his well-schooled brain;
the other wild, independent, and for whose words and actions he must
respond.
"I cannot bear it," he muttered, as he stood back against the wall, as
far from the faint light as the room would allow. "It must be like
madness in others' eyes, and yet I am sane. I feel like a man haunted
by a shadow, and yet it is a fancy--a terrible waking dream. But I
will--Heaven help me!--I will look at it from a scientific point of
view; say it is so--that I have arrested spirit and not body. Well,
what then? Is there anything to fear?
"No; and I will not fear it," he muttered, "any more than I would the
dead; but," he added, after a pause, "it is the living I fear. I cannot
explain--I cannot control--this horror--bah! this essence--when it
speaks, and the living give me the blame. No, I cannot, I dare not,
explain. Who would believe? No one. They would say I was mad."
A gentle tap at the door, but no response. A louder tapping, and no
answer.
"Mr Thompson, sir, says he must see you on very particular business."
North heard the words. His crafty, keen-eyed cousin was there. How
could he see him now? It was impossible. He had declined before, and
he was persisting again.
"Will you come down and see him, sir?"
"No: don't do that, Horace, if you are ill. Open the door and I'll come
and chat to you there."
No sound in reply; but directly after there was a loud noise of mocking
laughter from within the room, a boisterous shout, and a partly-heard
speech.
"Oh, my dear master!" cried Mrs Milt. "Ah!" ejaculated Cousin
Thompson, across whose imagination glided the fair prospect of the
beautiful Manor House estate, and his eyes glistened as he said softly,
"I'm afraid he is very ill."
Volume 3, Chapter VIII.