had been put in the usual way, by any body else, I should have
considered it too insolent to be noticed. Can you understand my
answering it, Sir Patrick? I can't understand it myself, now--and
yet I did answer. She forced me to it with her stony eyes. I said
'yes.' "
"Did all this take place at the door?"
"At the door."
"When did she let you in?"
"The next thing she did was to let me in. She took me by the arm,
in a rough way, and drew me inside the door, and shut it. My
nerves are broken; my courage is gone. I crept with cold when she
touched me. She dropped my arm. I stood like a child, waiting for
what it pleased her to say or do next. She rested her two hands
on her sides, and took a long look at me. She made a horrid dumb
sound--not as if she was angry; more, if such a thing could be,
as if she was satisfied--pleased even, I should have said, if it
had been any body but Hester Dethridge. Do you understand it?"
"Not yet. Let me get nearer to understanding it by asking
something before you go on. Did she show any attachment to you,
when you were both at Windygates?"
"Not the least. She appeared to be incapable of attachment to me,
or to any body."
"Did she write any more questions on her slate?"
"Yes. She wrote another question under what she had written just
before. Her mind was still running on my fainting fit, and on the
'man' who had 'brought me to it.' She held up the slate; and the
words were these: 'Tell me how he served you, did he knock you
down?' Most people would have laughed at the question. _I_ was
startled by it. I told her, No. She shook her head as if she
didn't believe me. She wrote on her slate, 'We are loth to own it
when they up with their fists and beat us--ain't we?' I said,
'You are quite wrong.' She went on obstinately with her writing.
'Who is the man?'--was her next question. I had control enough
over myself to decline telling her that. She opened the door, and
pointed to me to go out. I made a sign entreating her to wait a
little. She went back, in her impenetrable way, to the writing on
the slate--still about the 'man.' This time, the question was
plainer still. She had evidently placed her own interpretation of
my appearance at the house. She wrote, 'Is it the man who lodges
here?' I saw that she would close the door on me if I didn't
answer. My only chance with her was to own that she had guessed
right. I said 'Yes. I want to see him.' She took me by the arm,
as roughly as before--and led me into the house."
"I begin to understand her," said Sir Patrick. "I remember
hearing, in my brother's time, that she had been brutally
ill-used by her husband. The association of id eas, even in _her_
confused brain, becomes plain, if you bear that in mind. What is
her last remembrance of you? It is the remembrance of a fainting
woman at Windygates."
"Yes."
"She makes you acknowledge that she has guessed right, in
guessing that a man was, in some way, answerable for the
condition in which she found you. A swoon produced by a shock
indicted on the mind, is a swoon that she doesn't understand. She
looks back into her own experience, and associates it with the
exercise of actual physical brutality on the part of the man. And
she sees, in you, a reflection of her own sufferings and her own
case. It's curious--to a student of human nature. And it
explains, what is otherwise unintelligible--her overlooking her
own instructions to the servant, and letting you into the house.
What happened next?"
"She took me into a room, which I suppose was her own room. She
made signs, offering me tea. It was done in the strangest
way--without the least appearance of kindness. After what you
have just said to me, I think I can in some degree interpret what
was going on in her mind. I believe she felt a hard-hearted
interest in seeing a woman whom she supposed to be as unfortunate
as she had once been herself. I declined taking any tea, and
tried to return to the subject of what I wanted in the house. She
paid no heed to me. She pointed round the room; and then took me
to a window, and pointed round the garden--and then made a sign
indicating herself. 'My house; and my garden'--that was what she
meant. There were four men in the garden--and Geoffrey Delamayn
was one of them. I made another attempt to tell her that I wanted
to speak to him. But, no! She had her own idea in her mind. After
beckoning to me to leave the window, she led the way to the
fire-place, and showed me a sheet of paper with writing on it,
framed and placed under a glass, and hung on the wall. She
seemed, I thought, to feel some kind of pride in her framed
manuscript. At any rate, she insisted on my reading it. It was an
extract from a will."
"The will under which she had inherited the house?"
"Yes. Her brother's will. It said, that he regretted, on his
death-bed, his estrangement from his only sister, dating from the
time when she had married in defiance of his wishes and against
his advice. As a proof of his sincere desire to be reconciled
with her, before he died, and as some compensation for the
sufferings that she had endured at the hands of her deceased
husband, he left her an income of two hundred pounds a year,
together with the use of his house and garden, for her lifetime.
That, as well as I remember, was the substance of what it said."
"Creditable to her brother, and creditable to herself," said Sir
Patrick. "Taking her odd character into consideration, I
understand her liking it to be seen. What puzzles me, is her
letting lodgings with an income of her own to live on."
"That was the very question which I put to her myself. I was
obliged to be cautious, and to begin by asking about the lodgers
first--the men being still visible out in the garden, to excuse
the inquiry. The rooms to let in the house had (as I understood
her) been taken by a person acting for Geoffrey Delamayn--his
trainer, I presume. He had surprised Hester Dethridge by barely
noticing the house, and showing the most extraordinary interest
in the garden."
"That is quite intelligible, Miss Silvester. The garden you have
described would be just the place he wanted for the exercises of
his employer--plenty of space, and well secured from observation
by the high walls all round. What next?"
"Next, I got to the question of why she should let her house in
lodgings at all. When I asked her that, her face turned harder
than ever. She answered me on her slate in these dismal words: 'I
have not got a friend in the world. I dare not live alone.' There
was her reason! Dreary and dreadful, Sir Patrick, was it not?"
"Dreary indeed! How did it end? Did you get into the garden?"
"Yes--at the second attempt. She seemed suddenly to change her
mind; she opened the door for me herself. Passing the window of
the room in which I had left her, I looked back. She had ta
ken
her place, at a table before the window, apparently watching for
what might happen. There was something about her, as her eyes met
mine (I can't say what), which made me feel uneasy at the time.
Adopting your view, I am almost inclined to think now, horrid as
the idea is, that she had the expectation of seeing me treated as
_she_ had been treated in former days. It was actually a relief
to me--though I knew I was going to run a serious risk--to lose
sight of her. As I got nearer to the men in the garden, I heard
two of them talking very earnestly to Geoffrey Delamayn. The
fourth person, an elderly gentleman, stood apart from the rest at
some little distance. I kept as far as I could out of sight,
waiting till the talk was over. It was impossible for me to help
hearing it. The two men were trying to persuade Geoffrey Delamayn
to speak to the elderly gentleman. They pointed to him as a
famous medical man. They reiterated over and over again, that his
opinion was well worth having--"
Sir Patrick interrupted her. "Did they mention his name?" he
asked.
"Yes. They called him Mr. Speedwell."
"The man himself! This is even more interesting, Miss Silvester,
than you suppose. I myself heard Mr. Speedwell warn Delamayn that
he was in broken health, when we were visiting together at
Windygates House last month. Did he do as the other men wished
him? Did he speak to the surgeon?"
"No. He sulkily refused--he remembered what you remember. He
said, 'See the man who told me I was broken down?--not I!' After
confirming it with an oath, he turned away from the others.
Unfortunately, he took the direction in which I was standing, and
discovered me. The bare sight of me seemed to throw him instantly
into a state of frenzy. He--it is impossible for me to repeat the
language that he used: it is bad enough to have heard it. I
believe, Sir Patrick, but for the two men, who ran up and laid
hold of him, that Hester Dethridge would have seen what she
expected to see. The change in him was so frightful--even to me,
well as I thought I knew him in his fits of passion--I tremble
when I think of it. One of the men who had restrained him was
language, that if Delamayn had a fit, he would lose the race, and
that I should be answerable for it. But for Mr. Speedwell, I
don't know what I should have done. He came forward directly.
'This is no place either for you, or for me,' he said--and gave
me his arm, and led me back to the house. Hester Dethridge met us
in the passage, and lifted her hand to stop me. Mr. Speedwell
asked her what she wanted. She looked at me, and then looked
toward the garden, and made the motion of striking a blow with
her clenched fist. For the first time in my experience of her--I
hope it was my fancy--I thought I saw her smile. Mr. Speedwell
took me out. 'They are well matched in that house,' he said. 'The
woman is as complete a savage as the men.' The carriage which I
had seen waiting at the door was his. He called it up, and
politely offered me a place in it. I said I would only trespass
on his kindness as far as to the railway station. While we were
talking, Hester Dethridge followed us to the door. She made the
same motion again with her clenched hand, and looked back toward
the garden--and then looked at me, and nodded her head, as much
as to say, 'He will do it yet!' No words can describe how glad I
was to see the last of her. I hope and trust I shall never set
eyes on her again!"
"Did you hear how Mr. Speedwell came to be at the house? Had he
gone of his own accord? or had he been sent for?"
"He had been sent for. I ventured to speak to him about the
persons whom I had seen in the garden. Mr. Speedwell explained
everything which I was not able of myself to understand, in the
kindest manner. One of the two strange men in the garden was the
trainer; the other was a doctor, whom the trainer was usually in
the habit of consulting. It seems that the real reason for their
bringing Geof frey Delamayn away from Scotland when they did, was
that the trainer was uneasy, and wanted to be near London for
medical advice. The doctor, on being consulted, owned that he was
at a loss to understand the symptoms which he was asked to treat.
He had himself fetched the great surgeon to Fulham, that morning.
Mr. Speedwell abstained from mentioning that he had foreseen what
would happen, at Windygates. All he said was, 'I had met Mr.
Delamayn in society, and I felt interest enough in the case to
pay him a visit--with what result, you have seen yourself.' "
"Did he tell you any thing about Delamayn's health?"
"He said that he had questioned the doctor on the way to Fulham,
and that some of the patient's symptoms indicated serious
mischief. What the symptoms were I did not hear. Mr. Speedwell
only spoke of changes for the worse in him which a woman would be
likely to understand. At one time, he would be so dull and
heedless that nothing could rouse him. At another, he flew into
the most terrible passions without any apparent cause. The
trainer had found it almost impossible (in Scotland) to keep him
to the right diet; and the doctor had only sanctioned taking the
house at Fulham, after being first satisfied, not only of the
convenience of the garden, but also that Hester Dethridge could
be thoroughly trusted as a cook. With her help, they had placed
him on an entirely new diet. But they had found an unexpected
difficulty even in doing that. When the trainer took him to the
new lodgings, it turned out that he had seen Hester Dethridge at
Windygates, and had taken the strongest prejudice against her. On
seeing her again at Fulham, he appeared to be absolutely
terrified."
"Terrified? Why?"
"Nobody knows why. The trainer and the doctor together could only
prevent his leaving the house, by threatening to throw up the
responsibility of preparing him for the race, unless he instantly
controlled himself, and behaved like a man instead of a child.
Since that time, he has become reconciled, little by little, to
his new abode--partly through Hester Dethridge's caution in
keeping herself always out of his way; and partly through his own
appreciation of the change in his diet, which Hester's skill in
cookery has enabled the doctor to make. Mr. Speedwell mentioned
some things which I have forgotten. I can only repeat, Sir
Patrick, the result at which he has arrived in his own mind.
Coming from a man of his authority, the opinion seems to me to be
startling in the last degree. If Geoffrey Delamayn runs in the
race on Thursday next, he will do it at the risk of his life."
"At the risk of dying on the ground?"
"Yes."
Sir Patrick's face became thoughtful. He waited a little before
"We have not wasted our time," he said, "in dwelling on what
happened during y
our visit to Fulham. The possibility of this
man's death suggests to my mind serious matter for consideration.
It is very desirable, in the interests of my niece and her
husband, that I should be able to foresee, if I can, how a fatal
result of the race might affect the inquiry which is to be held
on Saturday next. I believe you may be able to help me in this."
"You have only to tell me how, Sir Patrick."
"I may count on your being present on Saturday?"
"Certainly."
"You thoroughly understand that, in meeting Blanche, you will
meet a person estranged from you, for the present--a friend and
sister who has ceased (under Lady Lundie's influence mainly) to
feel as a friend and sister toward you now?"
"I was not quite unprepared, Sir Patrick, to hear that Blanche
had misjudged me. When I wrote my letter to Mr. Brinkworth, I
warned him as delicately as I could, that his wife's jealousy
might be very easily roused. You may rely on my self-restraint,
no matter how hardly it may be tried. Nothing that Blanche can
say or do will alter my grateful remembrance of the past. While I
live, I love her. Let that assurance quiet any little anxiety
that you may have felt as to my conduct--and tell me how I can
serve those interests which I have at heart as well as you."
"You can serve them, Miss Silvester, in this way. You can make me
acquainted with the position in which you stood toward Delamayn
at the time when you went to the Craig Fernie inn."
"Put any questions to me that you think right, Sir Patrick."
"You mean that?"
"I mean it."
"I will begin by recalling something which you have already told
me. Delamayn has promised you marriage--"
"Over and over again!"
"In words?"
"Yes."
"In writing?"
"Yes."
"Do you see what I am coming to?"
"Hardly yet."
"You referred, when we first met in this room, to a letter which
you recovered from Bishopriggs, at Perth. I have ascertained from
Arnold Brinkworth that the sheet of note-paper stolen from you
contained two letters. One was written by you to Delamayn--the
other was written by Delamayn to you. The substance of this last
Arnold remembered. Your letter he had not read. It is of the
utmost importance, Miss Silvester, to let me see that
correspondence before we part to-day."
Anne made no answer. She sat with her clasped hands on her lap.
Her eyes looked uneasily away from Sir Patrick's face, for the
first time.
"Will it not be enough," she asked, after an interval, "if I tell
you the substance of my letter, without showing it?"
"It will _not_ be enough," returned Sir Patrick, in the plainest
manner. "I hinted--if you remember--at the propriety of my seeing
the letter, when you first mentioned it, and I observed that you
purposely abstained from understanding me, I am grieved to put
you, on this occasion, to a painful test. But if you _are_ to
help me at this serious crisis, I have shown you the way."
Anne rose from her chair, and answered by putting the letter into
Sir Patrick's hands. "Remember what he has done, since I wrote
that," she said. "And try to excuse me, if I own that I am
ashamed to show it to you now."
With those words she walked aside to the window. She stood there,
with her hand pressed on her breast, looking out absently on the
murky London view of house roof and chimney, while Sir Patrick
opened the letter.
It is necessary to the right appreciation of events, that other
eyes besides Sir Patrick's should follow the brief course of the
correspondence in this place.
1. _From Anne Silvester to Geoffrey Delamayn._
WINDYGATES HOUSE. _August_ 19, 1868.
"GEOFFREY DELAMAYN,--I have waited in the hope that you would
ride over from your brother's place, and see me--and I have
waited in vain. Your conduct to me is cruelty itself; I will bear