"My wife—my bride!" said Raymond. "How often we talked of this home-coming! Halifax, my dear fellow, I feel dazed. What has come to me?"
"You are tired and worn out," I answered, soothingly. "Come." I took his arm, and he entered the brougham, which was waiting for him, without another word. I shall never forget that journey. The slow pace of the mourning carriages, the solemn look of the hearse on in front. It was a moon-lit and fine night, and the whole ghastly procession was, I could see, viewed the entire way by lines of spectators. Fortunately there were no bonfires, and more fortunately still, Raymond never noticed the fact.
We entered the winding and splendid avenue which led to the Towers, and after a time drew up at the principal entrance, in the centre of the pile of buildings.
"This door is never opened except for a bridal, a funeral, or a christening," said Raymond, in a light tone. "Heigh-ho!" he continued, "what a home-coming for the bonny bride."
He sprang out of the carriage and went up to the hearse. The bearers came forward to lift the coffin out. He pushed two of them roughly aside, and himself helped to carry his dead wife across the threshold of her home.
The coffin was placed on a raised daïs in the great central hall. This daïs was completely covered with flowers. Raymond, having helped to put the coffin in its place, turned round, and began to make a speech to the assembled visitors. Fortunately, this ghastly performance was more than he had strength for. He suddenly gave way, covered his face with his big hands, and rushed from the scene.
I immediately asked the friendly neighbours to leave us.
They did so, evidently in the greatest consternation, and I felt a slight sense of satisfaction as I closed the wide doors on the last of them.
An old, white-headed butler was standing in the hall.
His face was perfectly scared.
"Good God!" he exclaimed. "May I ask, sir, if you're a doctor?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Can you tell me what's the matter with my poor master?"
"He is out of his mind for the time being," I answered, promptly.
"Then God help us all," replied the man.
"What is your name?" I inquired of him.
"Jasper, sir. I have served the family for close on thirty years. I was in the house when Mr. William was born. He was never quite like other lads, more shy like and morose a bit—but, oh, the change in him when he got engaged to Miss Travers! Oh, dear, oh, dear, why did she die, poor young lady?"
"It was very sudden," I replied. "I will tell you about it later on. I don't mind saying now that your master's condition fills me with anxiety, but the best thing all the rest of us can do is to keep our heads. What is the name of the steward?"
"Berring, Mr. Berring."
"I will see him by-and-by. Have all preparations been made for the funeral ceremony to-morrow?"
"I believe so, doctor—the oak coffin was sent in to-day."
"Tell Mr. Berring that I want to see him before he leaves for the night."
"He will sleep here to-night, sir."
"That is good," I replied. "I am going to your master now. Bring food and wine to the study, and be in readiness to come to me, should I ring."
"Yes, doctor."
The man retired, casting a pitying glance on the white coffin, which was now almost covered with flowers.
I looked at it, too, and could not help uttering a sigh as I thought of all the tragedy which it contained. I then went to find my poor friend. He was sitting in his study, warming his hands by a blazing fire. He had quite recovered from his temporary breakdown, and once again I saw that awful smile hovering round his lips.
"Come in," he said to me when he saw me at the door; "not that we want you—we are very happy here together; I knew that we should be."
I had no need to ask what he meant. I knew too well that this was a further development of his insanity. He thought, poor fellow, that his wife was really bearing him company. After a moment's hesitation, I determined to speak in a cheerful tone.
"Come, come," I said, "even though you are happy you must not turn out an old friend." I drew a chair forward as I spoke.
A frown crept over his face.
"She goes away when you come in," he said. "I wish you would leave us."
"I will presently," I answered. "I want some supper, and so do you. Ah, and here it comes. Lay it on that table, please, Jasper; thanks, that will do nicely."
