"I came to meet you to-day to tell you that I have used a little guile
with regard to your visit. I have not told Sir Henry that you are coming
here in the capacity of a doctor."
Here she paused and gave me one of her restless glances.
"Do you mind?" she asked.
"What have you said about me to Sir Henry?" I inquired.
"That you are a great friend of the Onslows, and that I have asked you
here for a week's change," she answered immediately.
"As a guest, my husband will be polite and delightful to you--as a
doctor, he would treat you with scant civility, and would probably give
you little or none of his confidence."
I was quite silent for a moment after Lady Studley had told me this.
Then I said:--
"Had I known that I was not to come to your house in the capacity of a
medical man, I might have re-considered my earnest desire to help you."
She turned very pale when I said this, and tears filled her eyes.
"Never mind," I said now, for I could not but be touched by her
extremely pathetic and suffering face, by the look of great illness
which was manifested in every glance. "Never mind now; I am glad you
have told me exactly the terms on which you wish me to approach your
husband; but I think that I can so put matters to Sir Henry that he will
be glad to consult me in my medical capacity."
"Oh, but he does not even know that I suspect his illness. It would
never do for him to know. I suspect! I see! I fear! but I say nothing.
Sir Henry would be much more miserable than he is now, if he thought
that I guessed that there is anything wrong with him."
"It is impossible for me to come to the Grange except as a medical man,"
I answered, firmly. "I will tell Sir Henry that you have seen some
changes in him, and have asked me to visit him as a doctor. Please trust
me. Nothing will be said to your husband that can make matters at all
uncomfortable for you."
Lady Studley did not venture any further remonstrance, and we now
approached the old Grange. It was an irregular pile, built evidently
according to the wants of the different families who had lived in it.
The building was long and rambling, with rows of windows filled up with
panes of latticed glass. In front of the house was a sweeping lawn,
which, even at this time of the year, presented a velvety and well-kept
appearance. We drove rapidly round to the entrance door, and a moment
later I found myself in the presence of my host and patient. Sir Henry
Studley was a tall man with a very slight stoop, and an aquiline and
rather noble face. His eyes were dark, and his forehead inclined to be
bald. There was a courtly, old-world sort of look about him. He greeted
me with extreme friendliness, and we went into the hall, a very large
and lofty apartment, to tea.
Lady Studley was vivacious and lively in the extreme. While she talked,
the hectic spots came out again on her cheeks. My uneasiness about her
increased as I noticed these symptoms. I felt certain that she was not
only consumptive, but in all probability she was even now the victim of
an advanced stage of phthisis. I felt far more anxious about her than
about her husband, who appeared to me at that moment to be nothing more
than a somewhat nervous and hypochondriacal person. This state of things
seemed easy to account for in a scholar and a man of sedentary habits.
I remarked about the age of the house, and my host became interested,
and told me one or two stories of the old inhabitants of the Grange. He
said that to-morrow he would have much pleasure in taking me over
the building.
[Illustration: "'HAVE YOU A GHOST HERE?' I ASKED, WITH A LAUGH."]
"Have you a ghost here?" I asked, with a laugh.
I don't know what prompted me to ask the question. The moment I did so,
Sir Henry turned white to his lips, and Lady Studley held up a warning
finger to me to intimate that I was on dangerous ground. I felt that I
was, and hastened to divert the conversation into safer channels.
Inadvertently I had touched on a sore spot. I scarcely regretted having
done so, as the flash in the baronet's troubled eyes, and the extreme
agitation of his face, showed me plainly that Lady Studley was right
when she spoke of his nerves being in a very irritable condition. Of
course, I did not believe in ghosts, and wondered that a man of Sir
Henry's calibre could be at all under the influence of this
old-world fear.
"I am sorry that we have no one to meet you," he said, after a few
remarks of a commonplace character had divided us from the ghost
question. "But to-morrow several friends are coming, and we hope you
will have a pleasant time. Are you fond of hunting?"
I answered that I used to be in the old days, before medicine and
patients occupied all my thoughts.
"If this open weather continues, I can probably give you some of your
favourite pastime," rejoined Sir Henry; "and now perhaps you would like
to be shown to your room."
My bedroom was in a modern wing of the house, and looked as cheerful and
as unghostlike as it was possible for a room to be. I did not rejoin my
host and hostess until dinner-time. We had a sociable little meal, at
which nothing of any importance occurred, and shortly after the servants
withdrew, Lady Studley left Sir Henry and me to ourselves. She gave me
another warning glance as she left the room. I had already quite made up
my mind, however, to tell Sir Henry the motive of my visit.
The moment the door closed behind his wife, he started up and asked me
if I would mind coming with him into his library.
"The fact is." he said, "I am particularly glad you have come down. I
want to have a talk with you about my wife. She is extremely unwell."
I signified my willingness to listen to anything Sir Henry might say,
and in a few minutes we found ourselves comfortably established in a
splendid old room, completely clothed with books from ceiling to floor.
"These are my treasures," said the baronet, waving his hand in the
direction of an old bookcase, which contained, I saw at a glance, some
very rare and precious first editions.
"These are my friends, the companions of my hours of solitude. Now sit
down, Dr. Halifax; make yourself at home. You have come here as a guest,
but I have heard of you before, and am inclined to confide in you. I
must frankly say that I hate your profession as a rule. I don't believe
in the omniscience of medical men, but moments come in the lives of all
men when it is necessary to unburden the mind to another. May I give you
my confidence?"
"One moment first," I said. "I can't deceive you, Sir Henry. I have come
here, not in the capacity of a guest, but as your wife's medical man.
She has been anxious about you, and she begged of me to come and stay
here for a few days in order to render you any medical assistance within
my power. I only knew, on my way here to-day, that she had not
acquainted you with the nature of my visit."
While I was speaking, Sir Henry's face became extremely watchful,
eager, and tense.
"This is remarkable," he said. "So Lucilla is anxious about me? I was
not aware that I ever gave her the least clue to the fact that I am
not--in perfect health. This is very strange--it troubles me."
He looked agitated. He placed one long, thin hand on the little table
which stood near, and pouring out a glass of wine, drank it off. I
noticed as he did so the nervous trembling of his hand. I glanced at his
face, and saw that it was thin to emaciation.
"Well," he said, "I am obliged to you for being perfectly frank with me.
My wife scarcely did well to conceal the object of your visit. But now
that you have come, I shall make use of you both for myself and
for her."
"Then you are not well?" I asked.
"Well!" he answered, with almost a shout. "Good God, no! I think that I
am going mad. I know--I know that unless relief soon comes I shall die
or become a raving maniac."
"No, nothing of the kind," I answered, soothingly; "you probably want
change. This is a fine old house, but dull, no doubt, in winter. Why
don't you go away?--to the Riviera, or some other place where there is
plenty of sunshine? Why do you stay here? The air of this place is too
damp to be good for either you or your wife."