Coventry passed a night of agony and remorse. He got up broken and
despondent, and went straight to Woodbine Villa to do a good action.
He inquired for Miss Carden. They told him she was very ill. He
expressed an earnest wish to see her. The servants told him that was
impossible. Nobody was allowed to see her but Dr. Amboyne. He went
next day to Dr. Amboyne, and the doctor told him that Miss Carden was
dangerously ill. Brain fever appeared inevitable.
“But, sir,” said Coventry, eagerly, “if one could prove to her that
those were not the remains of Henry Little?”
“How could you prove that? Besides, it would be no use now. She is
delirious. Even should she live, I should forbid the subject for many
a day. Indeed, none but the man himself could make her believe those
remains are not his; and even he could not save her now. If he stood by
her bedside, she would not know him.”
The doctor's lip trembled a little, and his words were so grave and
solemn that they struck to the miserable man's marrow. He staggered
away, like a drunken man, to his lodgings, and there flung himself on
the floor, and groveled in an agony of terror and remorse.