“No,” said Io, with a little hesitation; “only, when he took my hand in church,—it was on a hot day in June,—his felt cold as ice, cold as the hand of a corpse.”
“Strange, very strange!” muttered Pinfold under his breath, as he tried to recall to mind any similar case. “Do you see any change in him as regards other matters?” he asked, looking keenly at the young wife.
“No—except—I’d rather not say,” replied Io, a flush rising to her pale cheek.
“But it is as a medical adviser that I wish to know all,” said Pinfold.
“This has nothing to do with medical matters. I do not wish to say more; I have had as much as I can bear,” said Io, rising from her low seat.
The doctor felt that it was time to end the interview, which had caused a most painful strain on his young friend. He also rose, and bade Io good-bye in his own lively manner, which, however, was a little forced on thepresent occasion. The good-natured doctor looked grave enough as he passed through the flower-mantled veranda.
“Poor fellow! poor fellow!” he muttered to himself. “I never heard that there was insanity in the Coldstream family. I must try to find out; but it would be awkward to ask a man like Mr. Coldstream whether either of his parents was ever in a lunatic asylum. Perhaps Oscar had a touch of the sun during his voyage in the Argus. I should like to question on this point one of his fellow-passengers. As good luck will have it, yonder comes Pogson, who went home in that vessel on short leave to see a sick mother. I’ll hail him, and ask a question or two, to decide the point of sunstroke. If Coldstream had a sharp one, that might account for all.”
The young man called Pogson, a clerk in Government employ, approached, taking a cigar from his mouth to return the greeting of the doctor.
“Pogson, you went home in the Argus with Coldstream?” said Pinfold, almost as soon as the two met.
“Yes, we went home together; but I had to return earlier than he did,” was Pogson’s reply.