A general survey of the few months that followed will suffice. There
are many small details which it would be pleasant to dwell upon, but
these may be safely left to the imagination. They consist for the most
part of the episodes which marked the progress of the love affair
between Mildred and Reginald--who, without any distinct declaration
from us, conducted themselves toward each other as an engaged couple.
We elder people tacitly held back from entering into an express
engagement, Mrs. Carew waiting, as it were, upon my movements and
those of her husband. I am in a position to explain the reasons of my
own backwardness in this important matter. Gabriel Carew's reasons
must, for the present, be left to explain themselves. I need scarcely
say that Reginald and Mildred were perfectly happy, being satisfied
that they possessed our sanction to their love. No fault was theirs in
this respect. If blame was due anywhere, we, their parents, were the
persons upon whom it justly fell.
The hope of a binding friendship between myself and Mr. and Mrs. Carew
was more than fulfilled. Not only did we become firm friends, but the
closest confidential relations were established between us. So much so
that I became acquainted with the history of the inner and outer lives
of Gabriel Carew and his sweet wife. There was little to learn of Mrs.
Carew's life which I had not already imagined; it was a record of
innocence and sweetness. But what I learnt of Gabriel Carew afforded
me food for grave reflection. So intimate were our relations, so
perfect was the confidence he reposed in me, that he concealed nothing
from me. His frankness won my admiration and greatly disturbed me. The
recital of his youthful life, of his midnight wanderings, of his
solitary musings, and afterwards of the death of his parents, of his
entrance into Nerac, of his intimacy with the family of Doctor Louis,
and of the tragic events that occurred in the peaceful village, made
up the sum of the strangest record which had ever been imparted to me.
I confess to being much affected by the fate of Eric and Emilius, and
I asked Carew whether he had heard anything of Emilius of late years.
His reply was that he had heard nothing, and that the unhappy man was
probably dead.
"You have no doubt that he was guilty?" I asked.
"Not the slightest doubt," said Carew.
I was not so sure; the story had excited within me a singular sympathy
for Emilius.
Now, in what I am about to say with respect to Gabriel Carew, I had,
at that time, I admit, the slightest of grounds; and the powerful
effect a certain suspicion had upon me was all the more singular
because of the absence of reliable evidence. The study I had made for
many years of the different forms in which insanity presents itself
was very captivating to me, and in the course of my researches I
unearthed some weird particulars, of which, were I a writer of
fiction, I could make effective use. Gabriel Carew was an affectionate
husband and father, a faithful mate to his wife, a wise counsellor to
his daughter. He had not a vice which I could discover. He was neither
a spendthrift nor a libertine. He drank in moderation, and he never
gambled; indeed, he detested all games of chance. His views of men and
manners were singularly correct, and denoted a well-balanced brain. It
was only where his affections were concerned that he could be called
in any way extravagant; but this would be accounted rather a virtue
than a vice. His recreations were intellectual, and he sought pleasure
and happiness only in his home and in association with books and his
wife and child. What judgment would you, from a distance, pass upon
such a man? What but that of entire approval? But I was in daily
contact with him, and signs were visible to me which greatly disturbed
me. To speak plainly, I doubted Gabriel Carew's perfect sanity!
This was a matter of most serious moment. If Carew were not sane, his
disease, so far as I could judge, was of a harmless form. The proof of
this lay in his affection for those of his blood, and--which, in
evidence is, in my opinion, quite as strong--in his tenderness to
animals and birds. But I have to a certainty established not only that
insanity is hereditary, but that what is harmless in the parent may
become destructive in the child. Mildred was Carew's daughter, and to
all appearance as free from any touch of insanity as the most
healthful of human beings. But the germ must be in her, to be
transmitted to her children--to Reginald's children if he married her.
This consideration impelled me to secret action in the way of inquiry.
It would have been, useless to appeal to Reginald, and to set before
him the probable consequences of such an union. My counsel would have
fallen upon idle ears. My duty, however, was clear. It was for me to
protect him.
Instead of listening uninterruptedly to the confidences imparted to me
by Carew, I prompted, probed and asked questions, and thus learnt much
which might otherwise not have come to my knowledge. Considering the
motive by which I was impelled, the investigation I was pursuing was
of an exceedingly delicate nature, but to my surprise, Carew met--nay,
anticipated--me with a most surprising frankness. He made no attempt
to avoid the subject, and the interest he evinced in it seemed to
exceed my own. He spoke much of himself--not in direct connection with
hereditary insanity, but as though there was that in his life before
the death of his parents which it would be a relief to him to clear
up. He gave me a circumstantial account of all the incidents of those
early years, taking pains to recall the most trifling detail bearing
upon his youth.
"It is a strange pleasure to me," he said, "to be able to unbosom
myself so freely. My wife is acquainted with much I have imparted to
you. There was never any need to distress her by a relation of the
morbid fancies which afflicted me when I was a boy, and which,
perhaps, were the foundation of the profound melancholy which, after
sunset, has lately crept upon me. Perhaps I am paying the penalty of
old age."
I combated this view, pointing out that he was in the prime of life,
with perhaps its most useful years before him. Throughout these
discussions and confidences the names of Mildred and Reginald were not
mentioned--I purposely avoided reference to them, but Carew did not
appear to have any thought of them while we conversed. The one person
who seemed to me able to furnish information from which I could weave
a rational theory was Mrs. Fortress, the nurse who for a number of
years attended Gabriel Carew's mother. I asked him if any
correspondence had passed between them since she left Rosemullion, and
he answered, "No," and that he had not seen or heard of her from that
time. I then asked him if he had any idea where she was to be found,
supposing her to be still living.
"In the last interview I had with her," he replied, "she gave me an
address in Cornwall." He paused here, and I saw that he was weighing
some matter in his mind. "I can find this address for you," he said
presently, "if you desire it. Have you any curiosity to see her?"
"Yes," I said boldly, "if you have no objection."
Again he paused in thought. "I have no objection," he said. "She may
reveal to you what she declined to reveal to me, and it may assist you
in your inquiry."
I looked at him, startled by his last words. They were the first he
had uttered which denoted that he suspected my motive in wooing and
encouraging these conversations. The expression on his face was gentle
and sad, and I thought it best to make no comment on his remark. The
next day he gave me an address in Cornwall at which Mrs. Fortress had
told him she was certain to be found during her lifetime. He gave me
also a short note to her, in which he stated that I was his most
intimate friend and adviser, and that he would be glad if she would
communicate to me any information respecting his parents it was in her
power to impart--intimating, at the same time, that I was prepared to
pay handsomely for it. At Carew's request, I read this note in his
presence, and at its conclusion he empowered me to pay for the
information if I could not otherwise obtain it, naming as a limit a
sum which I considered extravagantly liberal. I had already made
preparations for a temporary absence from home, and before the end of
the week I was in Cornwall, and face to face with Mrs. Fortress.