"No, no, man; are you mad?" cried the doctor, catching him by the arm.

"No more nor most folks be, sir; but I'm not going to see a woman go wrong, and a good true young man's heart broke, to save a smooth-tongued gent from getting into trouble. It'll do him good too."

"Then you mean Mr Prayle?"

"Course I do, sir. There aren't no one else here, I hope, as would behave that how."

"Where are you going?" said the doctor, holding the old man tightly by the arm.

"Straight up to Sir James, sir."

"No, no, man. Let me go."

"To master, sir?"

"No, no. To Prayle--to them. Where are they?" The doctor's voice sounded very hoa.r.s.e, and the blood flushed to his face in his bitter anger as he clenched his hand.

"They're down in the lower summer-house, sir," said the old man; "and it's my dooty to take Sir James strite down to confront him and ask him what he means; see what a bad un he be and then send him about his business, never to come meddling here no more."

Scales stood perfectly silent, but gripping the old man's arm tightly.

It was confirmation of suspicions that had troubled him again and again.

He had crushed them constantly, telling himself that there was no truth in them; that they disgraced him; and here was the end. What should he do? The shock to his friend would be terrible; but would it not be better that he should know--better than going on in such a state as this? The knowledge must come sooner or later, and why not now?

The shock? What of the effects of that shock with his mind in such a state? Would it work ill or good?

"Poor fellow!" he muttered, "as if he had not suffered enough. I never thoroughly believed in her, and yet I have tried. No, no; he must not know."

"Now, sir, if you'll let go o' me, I'm going up to master."

"No, my man; he must not be told."

"It's my dooty to tell him, sir; and I'm a-going to do it."

"But I don't know what effect it may have upon him, man."

"It can't have a bad one, sir; and it may rouse Sir James up into being the man he was afore the accident. I must make haste, please, sir, or I may be too late."

"No, Monnick; you must not go."

"Not go, sir? Well, sir, I don't want to be disrespeckful to my master's friends; but I've thought this over, and my conscience says it's my dooty, and I shall go." The old man shook himself free, and went off at a trot, leaving the doctor hesitating as to the course to pursue.

Should he run after and stop him? Should he go down the garden, interrupt the meeting, and enable them to escape? "No; a hundred times no!" he muttered, stamping his foot. "I must stop him at any cost." He ran up the garden; but he was too late, for before he reached the house he heard low voices, and found that Scarlett had been tempted out by the beauty of the night--or by fate, as the doctor put it--and was half-way down the path when Monnick had met him.

"Who is this?" he said in a low, agitated voice, as the doctor met them.

"It is I, old fellow," said the doctor, hastily.--"Now come, be calm.

You must govern yourself. Has he told you something?"

"I wanted no telling, Jack," groaned Scarlett. "The moment he opened his lips, I knew it. I have suspected it for long enough; but I could not stir--I would not stir. He, my own cousin, too; the man I have made my friend. O, heaven, is there no grat.i.tude or manly feeling on the earth!"

"My dear boy, you must--you shall be cool," whispered the doctor. "You are in a low nervous state, and--"

"It is false! I am strong. I never felt stronger than to-night. This has brought me to myself. I would not see it, Jack. I blinded myself.

I told myself I was mad and a traitor, to imagine such things; but I have felt it all along."

"And has this been preying on your mind?"

"Preying? Gnawing my heart out.--Don't stop me. Let us go. Quick! He shall know me for what I am. Not the weak miserable fool he thinks.-- Come quickly!--No! stop!" He stood panting, with Scales holding tightly by his arm, trembling for the result.

"Monnick, go back to the house," said Scarlett, at last in a low whisper; and the old man went without a word.

"Now you stop here," said Scarlett, in the same low painful whisper. "I will not degrade her more by bringing a witness."

"But Scarlett--my dear old fellow. There must be no violence.

Recollect that you are a gentleman."

"Yes! I recollect. I am not going to act like a ruffian. You see how calm I am."

"But it may be some mistake. I have seen nothing. It is all dependent on your gardener's words. What did he tell you?"

"Hardly a word," groaned Scarlett, "hardly a word. 'Prayle--the summer-house.' It was enough. I tell you, I have suspected it so long.

It has been killing me. How could I get well with this upon my mind!"

"But, now?"

"Stay here, man--stay here."

"Promise me you will use no violence, and I will loose your arm."

"I promise--I will act like--a gentleman."

The doctor loosed his arm; and drawing a long hissing breath, James Scarlett walked swiftly down the garden-path to where, in the moist dark shades below the trained hazels, the summer-house had been formed as a nook for sunny scorching days. It was close to the river, and from it there was a glorious view of one of the most beautiful reaches of the Thames.

James Scarlett recalled many a happy hour pa.s.sed within its shade, and the rage that burned within his breast gave place to a misery so profound that, as he reached the turn that led to the retreat, he stopped short, pressing his hands to his throat and panting for his breath, which hardly came to his labouring breast. And as he stood there, he heard his cousin's voice, in the silence of the evening, saying softly: "Then you promise? I will be at the station to meet you, and no one will know where you have gone."

James Scarlett's brain swam as he heard the answer. It was: "Yes!" A faithful promise for the next evening; and as he listened and heard each word clearly, he staggered back and nearly fell. Recovering himself somewhat, though, he walked slowly back, groping in the dark as it were, with his hands spread out before him, to keep from striking against one or other of the trees. The next minute, the doctor had him by the hand, and was hurrying him away, when Scarlett gave a sudden lurch, and would have fallen, had not his friend thrown one arm about him, and then, lifting him by main force, carried him to the house. The French window of the study was open; and he bore him in and laid him upon a couch, where, after a liberal application of cold water to his temples, he began to revive, opening his eyes and gazing wonderingly around. Then, as recollection came back, he uttered a low sigh, and caught at the doctor's hand.

"Kate!" he said softly. "Go and fetch poor Kate."

Volume 2, Chapter XII.

THE DOCTOR'S EYESIGHT IMPROVES.

Doctor Scales left his friend, after sending word by one of the servants that he wished to see Lady Scarlett. The meeting would be very painful, and it was one to be avoided. Consequently, beyond encountering Aunt Sophia in the course of the evening and answering a few questions, the doctor managed so well that he saw no one else belonging to the establishment before asking whether Scarlett would see him again, and retiring for the night.

"It isn't a question of medicine," he had said to himself. "Wretched woman! I always mistrusted her. I don't know why, but I did. And now, what will be the next movement? They will separate of course; and after poor Scarlett has got over the shock, I daresay he will mend.--How closely he kept it, poor fellow. He must have loved her very dearly, and would not speak while it was mere suspicion."

It was just about this time that Aunt Sophia came to him, to ask him if he would have some tea.