My one effort now was to keep the knowledge of the ghastly discovery I
had made from the unhappy husband.
He followed me to his wife's room. He forgot even to question me about
the apparition, so horrified was he at the sight which met his view.
I administered restoratives to the dying woman, and did what I could to
check the haemorrhage. After a time Lady Studley opened her dim eyes.
"Oh, Henry!" she said, stretching out a feeble hand to him, "come with
me, come with me. I am afraid to go alone."
"My poor Lucilla," he said. He smoothed her cold forehead, and tried to
comfort her by every means in his power.
After a time he left the room. When he did so she beckoned me to
approach. "I have failed," she said, in the most thrilling voice of
horror I have ever listened to. "I must go alone. He will not come
with me."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
She could scarcely speak, but at intervals the following words dropped
slowly from her lips:--
"I was the apparition. I did not want my husband to live after me.
Perhaps I was a little insane. I cannot quite say. When I was told by
Sir Joseph Dunbar that there was no hope of my life, a most appalling
and frightful jealousy took possession of me. I pictured my husband with
another wife. Stoop down."
Her voice was very faint. I could scarcely hear her muttered words. Her
eyes were glazing fast, death was claiming her, and yet hatred against
some unknown person thrilled in her feeble voice.
"Before my husband married me, he loved another woman," she continued.
"That woman is now a widow. I felt certain that immediately after my
death he would seek her out and marry her. I could not bear the
thought--it possessed me day and night. That, and the terror of dying
alone, worked such a havoc within me that I believe I was scarcely
responsible for my own actions. A mad desire took possession of me to
take my husband with me, and so to keep him from her, and also to have
his company when I passed the barriers of life. I told you that my
brother was a doctor. In his medical-student days the sort of trick I
have been playing on Sir Henry was enacted by some of his
fellow-students for his benefit, and almost scared him into fever. One
day my brother described the trick to me, and I asked him to show me how
it was done. I used a small electric lamp and a very strong reflector."
"How did you find out the secret door of the wardrobe?" I asked.
"Quite by chance. I was putting some dresses into the wardrobe one day
and accidentally touched the secret panel. I saw at once that here was
my opportunity."
"You must have been alarmed at your success," I said, after a pause.
"And now I have one more question to ask: Why did you summon me to
the Grange?"
She made a faint, impatient movement.
"I wanted to be certain that my husband was really very ill," she said.
"I wanted you to talk to him--I guessed he would confide in you; I
thought it most probable that you would tell him that he was a victim of
brain hallucinations. This would frighten him and would suit my purpose
exactly. I also sent for you as a blind. I felt sure that under these
circumstances neither you nor my husband could possibly suspect me."
She was silent again, panting from exhaustion.
"I have failed," she said, after a long pause. "You have discovered the
truth. It never occurred to me for a moment that you would go into the
room. He will recover now."
She paused; a fresh attack of haemorrhage came on. Her breath came
quickly. Her end was very near. Her dim eyes could scarcely see.
Groping feebly with her hand she took mine.
"Dr. Halifax--promise."
"What?" I asked.
"I have failed, but let me keep his love, what little love he has for
me, before he marries that other woman. Promise that you will never
tell him."
"Rest easy," I answered, "I will never tell him."
Sir Henry entered the room.