"There is no need for secrets between us," I replied; "but it will be as well to keep certain matters to ourselves."
"Certainly. I will not speak of them to any one. It is agreed that what passes between us is in confidence."
"Miss Mabel Rutland is niece to the Mr. James Rutland who was on the jury."
"That is strange," exclaimed Dr. Daincourt.
"Very strange," I said; "but I shall be surprised if, before we come to the end of this affair, we do not meet with even stranger circumstances than that. Proceed, I beg, with what you have to tell me concerning Miss Rutland."
"Well," said Dr. Daincourt, "her parents are in great distress about her. I saw and examined her, and I am much puzzled. There is nothing radically wrong with her. There is no confirmed disease; her lungs are sufficiently strong; she is not in a consumption, and yet it may be that she will die. It is not her body that is suffering, it is her mind. Of course I was very particular in making the fullest inquiries, and indeed she interested me. Although her features are wasted, she is very beautiful, and there rests upon her face an expression of suffering exaltation and self-sacrifice which deeply impressed me. In saying that this expression rests upon her face, I am speaking with exactness. It is not transient; it does not come and go. It is always there, and to my experienced eyes it appears to denote some strong trouble which has oppressed her for a considerable time, and under the pressure of which she has at length broken down. I could readily believe what her parents told me, that there were times when she was delirious for many hours."
"Has she been long ill?" I inquired.
"She has been confined to her bed," replied Dr. Daincourt, "since the 26th of March."
"The 26th of March," I repeated; "the day on which Mrs. Edward Layton was found dead."
Dr. Daincourt started. "I did not give that a thought," he said.