“Yes; go on with this extraordinary story, Mr. Hamilton. I am interested because it concerns myself, not that I have any knowledge of one hour of my past.”
“I will tell you everything, and then you shall decide upon your future course. You were engaged to be married, Sir Harold, to one of the highest ladies in the land—to Lady Elaine, the daughter of the Earl of Seabright.”
He looked keenly at the young baronet, and only saw a puzzled smile, that deepened into one of incredulity.
“I do not remember Lady Elaine,” he observed, “and to the best of my belief this is the first time that I have ever heard the lady’s name.”
“You were engaged to her, and the papers say that you loved her madly, but that you deserted her because you believed that she was not true to you.”
“By Jove!” ejaculated Sir Harold, “this is extraordinary! Are you quite sure that you are not mistaking me for some other man?”
He buried his face in his hands and tried to think, but again was afflicted by an agony that was excruciating.
“Mr. Hamilton,” he said, at last, “I cannot recall one incident—I cannot recall one hour of my past. The accident which has befallen me may be considered a terrible one, but at present I cannot be brought to regard it as such. It does not make me suffer in the least until I try to use my darkened brains. I cannot doubt one word of your story, but I have no wish to go back into a world that will have nothing but pity for me. Some time in the future I may recover what I have lost, but I have no desire to do so, for it seems that my life must in some way have been a failure.”
“Sir Harold,” cried John Hamilton, in dismay, “you must permit me to take you home! I do not like to hear you talk in this way. I will tell your story to your friends without revealing too much of myself, and you will be cured by some of the great doctors of the day.”
“No, no!” pleaded the young baronet. “I could not bear to be pitied! Time will heal all things. Do you not see that I should be held up to ridicule everywhere? A man who had been jilted—a man who was little better than an idiot! The idea that I might eventually be adjudged insane is terrifying! Do you not see the force of my reasoning? Suppose that I return to Annesley Park, and specialists are called in to diagnose my case—what will be the result? I shall be pitied and ridiculed. I cannot remain in blissful ignorance of this like the ordinary lunatic, even if the doctors were unsuccessful. My life would be to me a daily torture. I may even have a keeper constantly at my elbow, or be shut up altogether in an asylum for idiots. On the other hand, if I am cured, my mind will reawaken to much that will be unpleasant, and the ridicule will be the same. People will point at me, and say: ‘There goes a man who went mad because a woman jilted him!’ I could not bear it, and I am so happy here! No, sir! Let me stay where I am until the excitement has cooled down. Let me enjoy the perfect peace of this little paradise until I can face the world again as Sir Harold Annesley of old!”