Volume Two—Chapter Two.
Sir James Scarlett’s Nerves.
“Come, old fellow; I think you are better now,” said the doctor, as he took Scarlett’s arm and walked with him down the garden. They had just been standing upon the lawn, where, in a group, Lady Scarlett, Lady Martlett, Naomi, and Aunt Sophia were with Arthur Prayle. The doctor had been irritated, though he would not own it, by the cool, haughty indifference of Lady Martlett, and it had cost him an effort to tear his thoughts from his own affairs to the troubles of his friend; but upon twice waking up to the fact that Scarlett was growing excited, and that he had displayed a disposition to what the doctor called “break out,” he suggested a stroll down the grounds.
Scarlett eagerly agreed; and after a solemn exchange of courtesies with Lady Martlett, the doctor took his friend away.
“Confound her!” muttered the doctor; “the others must have wondered whether I was going to hand her out for a minuet. I wish the woman would keep away.”
They strolled about for some few minutes, and twice came to a halt; but the first time, as they seated themselves in a couple of garden-chairs, the voice of Arthur Prayle came in a low deep murmur from the lawn as he was saying something earnestly, and the doctor saw his patient’s eyes flash, and then, us he watched him curiously, contract in an unpleasant way.
“Prayle seems to be working very hard for you, old fellow.”
“Yes.”
“You trust him, I suppose, with all the settlement of your London affairs?”
“Yes: everything.”
“Thoroughly trustworthy fellow, of course?”
“Yes, yes, I tell you,” cried Scarlett angrily. “He is my cousin.”
“Yes, of course,” said the doctor, quietly noting every change in his friend the while.
“Come somewhere else,” said Scarlett, leaping up in an excited manner. “I can’t bear to sit here.”
“All right—all right,” said the doctor cheerily. “Let’s go down to the waterside.”
“No, no!” exclaimed Scarlett, with a shudder. “Come to the rhododendrons.”
“By all means. But I say, old fellow, you must fight down this weakness.”
“Weakness? What weakness? Is it a weakness to prefer one part of the garden to the other?”
“O no; of course not. Let’s go down there.”
They strolled down between two great banks of the grand flowering shrubs, now rich with the glossy green of their summer growth, and sat down, when a new trouble assailed Scarlett, and he sprang up impatiently. “Hah!” he exclaimed. “I can’t bear it.”
“Why, what’s the matter now?”
“Those blue-bottles buzzing about me like that; just as if they expected I should soon be carrion.”
“Pooh! What an absurd idea! But you are wrong, old fellow, as usual. I am the more fleshy subject, and they would be after me. Let’s go down yonder under the firs.”
“Why? What is there there, that you should choose that part?” said Scarlett, with a quick suspicious glance.
“Fir-trees, shade, seats to sit down,” said the doctor quietly.
“Yes, yes, of course; that will do,” said Scarlett hastily. “Let’s go there.”
They strolled along a sun-burned path; and the doctor had just made the remark that commences this chapter, when there was a rustling noise among the shrubs, a whining yelp, and Scarlett’s favourite dog, a little white fox-terrier, rushed out at them, to leap up at its master, barking with delight. It came upon them so suddenly, that Scarlett uttered a wild cry, caught at the doctor’s arm, screened himself behind his sturdy body, and stood there trembling like a leaf.
“Why, it’s only Fritz!” cried the doctor, smiling.
“He startled me so—so sudden,” panted Scarlett. “Drive the brute away.”
“Ist! Go home; go back!” cried the doctor; and, as if understanding the state of affairs, and dejected and wretched at being treated like this, where he had expected to be patted and caressed, the dog drooped his head and tail, looked wistfully up at his master, and slowly trotted away. He turned at the end of the path, and looked back at them, as if half expecting to be recalled, and then went on out of sight.
“I’ll sell that dog, Jack; he’s growing vicious,” said Scarlett, speaking in an excited tone. “I’ve watched him a good deal lately. What are the first signs of hydrophobia?”
“Hydrophobia,” said the doctor smiling—“water-hating; but I have never studied the diseases of dogs—only sad dogs.”
“I wish you would not be so flippant, Jack, I’m sure that dog is going mad. He hates water now.”
“Don’t agree with you, old fellow,” said the doctor, throwing himself upon a great rustic seal beneath some pines; “the dog was quite wet, and I saw him, an hour ago, plashing about after the rats.”
“Ah, but he avoids it sometimes. I have a horror of mad dogs.”
Scarlett settled himself down in the seat in a moody, excitable way, looking uneasily round; and the doctor offered him a cigar, which he took and lit, Scales also lighting one, and the friends sat smoking in the delicious pine-scented shade.
“I wish that woman would not be so fond of coming over here,” said Scarlett suddenly.
“What woman?”
“That Lady Martlett. Coarse, masculine, horsy creature. She is spoiling Kate.”
The doctor’s countenance grew lowering, and there was a red spot on either cheek, but he only said quietly: “Think so?”
“Yes. I shall put a stop to the intimacy.”
“I’m not going to have my home-life spoiled. Her coming makes me nervous.”
“Does it?” said the doctor cheerfully. “I’ll soon put that right for you.”
“How?” said Scarlett suspiciously.
“You shall have a shower-bath every morning, old fellow.”
“Water? ah!” The poor fellow shuddered, and started up. “Here, let’s have a stroll down by the meadow-side.”
“All right!” cried the doctor with alacrity, “What a glorious day it is!”
“Glorious? Ah, yes. Not breeze enough though. Now, let’s go back to the lawn.”
“As you like, old fellow; but I don’t think Lady Martlett has gone.”
“Why, what a dislike you seem to have taken to Lady Martlett, Jack!”
“Well, you know what a woman-hater I am.”
“Yes, of course. Let’s go on down by the meadow. Perhaps it will be best.”
They strolled down a green path separated from the meadow, where the cows were placidly grazing, by an iron fence; and as they went slowly on, two of the soft mousy-coloured creatures came slowly from the middle of the field, blinking their eyes to get rid of the clustering black flies, and giving a pendulum-like swing to their long tails. They timed their approach so accurately, that as the doctor and his patient reached the corner, they were there, with their heads stretched over the railings, ready for the caress and scrap of oilcake which they expected to receive.
Scarlett’s attention was so taken up by his thoughts, that he came upon the two patient animals quite suddenly, stopping as if paralysed, and trembling like one afflicted with the palsy. He did not speak, but stood staring, fascinated as it were by the great soft eyes gazing at him; but he stretched out one hand slowly and cautiously behind him, feeling about for his friend, till Scales placed his hand within. Then the poor fellow clasped the fingers with a sob of relief, shuddering as he tore himself away from the inoffensive beasts, and suffering himself to be led back to the seat they had quitted, where he sank down shivering, and covered his face with his hands, sobbing like a child.
The doctor sat gazing at him gravely thinking it better to let him give free vent to his emotion; but, as it grew more and more intense, he laid his hand upon his friend’s shoulder, saying nothing, but firmly pressing it; the effect of which was to make Scarlett snatch at his hand and grasp it passionately, as he panted out in a voice choked with sobs: “It’s a judgment on me, Jack. I’ve been living here in wealth and idleness, thinking of nothing but self and my own enjoyment. I have not had a thought of anything but pleasure, and I felt so strong and well, that it did not seem possible for a cloud to come across my life. Now, look at me! One stroke, and I have been taught what a poor frail helpless worm I am. Jack, Jack! my nerve is gone. I hate everything. I mistrust every one, even my poor wife, and I see danger everywhere. I daren’t stir a step. You pretend not to see it; but you are always reading me. Jack, old man, I’m afraid of you sometimes, but I do believe in and trust you. I’ll obey you; I’ll do every thing you want, even if it kills me with fear. I will—I will indeed; but, for God’s sake, don’t let them take me away. Don’t leave me. Don’t trust anybody. Don’t get any other advice. Go by your own judgment, old fellow, and no matter what I say or do, don’t let me drive you away. You are the only one I can trust.”
“My dear Scarlett, be calm.”
“I can’t—I can’t!” cried the wretched man passionately, “knowing what I do—knowing what I am; but I will—I will try so—so hard.”
“Of course; and you’ll succeed.”
“No—no! I’m getting worse—much worse, and I can see what everybody thinks. Kate sees it, and has turned from me in horror. You see it; I can read it in your eyes. You wouldn’t say so, but you know it as well as can be. Tell me; isn’t it true?”
“What, that the shock of that half-drowning has upset your nerves, so that you are weak, and have developed a temper that would try an angel? Yes; that’s true enough.”
“No—no! I mean the other—that horror—that dreadful thought that makes me lie and shudder, and ask myself whether I had not better,”—He stopped short and crouched away in the corner of the seat, his face ghastly, his eyes wild and staring, till the doctor spoke in a firm imperious voice, that made him reply, as it were, in spite of himself. “Better what?”
“End it all, and be at rest.”
“Why?” said the doctor, bending towards him as if about to drag forth an answer.
“Because—”
“Well? Speak. I know what you are going to say, but speak out.”
“Because,” said Scarlett, in a low hoarse whisper, as if he dreaded that the very breeze might bear away his confession—“I know it—I feel it—I can tell as well as can be, without something always seeming to whisper it in my ears—I am going mad!” He covered his face with his hands, and sank lower in his seat, panting heavily, and his breath coming and going each minute in a piteous sigh; while, after watching him intently for a few moments, the doctor rose and stood by his side.