“No, no!—I do not say any such thing, by any means. The case of Woodruff is certainly, in one sense, the most singular I ever knew, and to me, in my situation, a peculiarly painful one; but what then?—what can I do?”
“Why, you know, my dear,” replied Mrs. Rowel, in a deprecatory tone of voice, “that you do manage his property, after all. The man is right enough as far as that goes?”
“Right enough, truly—I do. But how do I? Is not the trouble as great as the profit? I keep it altogether where it was for him,—prevent him from squandering it in his mad fits, as he was about to do at the time I caused him to be placed in confinement,—keep him out of harm's way,—clothe him,—feed him,—medicine,—attendance,—everything,—and not a single item put down against his estate for all this. What was I to do, do you suppose? Was it likely that I should stand quietly by, and see all that he had himself, and all that my sister Frances left him, go to rack and ruin, waste and destruction, as if it were of no more value than an old song?”
“But what was it that he was doing?” asked Mrs. Rowel; “for I am sure I could never find out.”
“He was doing nothing actually,” said the doctor. “But what should you have thought of me, if I had kept my hands in my pockets until the mischief was past before I attempted to interfere? It was what I foresaw he intended to do that caused me to step between. Was not he going to pull that good new house to pieces, for the sake of patching up the old one with its materials? The man must have been stark raving mad to have thought of such a thing, and everybody would have said so.”
“I should not have said so,” observed the lady; “though there is nothing wonderful about that, as you have told me that I may be mad too. But it was always my opinion that the old family house was worth ten of the other, if it had but the same fire-grates and chimney-pieces put in it.”
“The fact is,” replied he, “you were all mad together about that tumble-down crazy concern, merely because it was the old house; and I am very glad I put a stop to it when I did, and in the manner I did, though I think he knows better now, mad as he is at present. To tell you the truth, my dear,” and the doctor lowered his voice to a more serious and impressive tone, “I do not think he cares much, or perhaps not anything at all, about it. His liberty seems to be the principal thing with him. Do you know, he offered this evening to make the whole property over to me as a free gift, if I would let him out.”
“Did he indeed!” exclaimed the lady, as tears of pity swam in her eyes. “Poor fellow!—poor fellow!”
“Why, poor fellow? I didn't prompt him to say what he did. Besides, I would not take it. How dare I let him out? His gift would be good for nothing to me, being void at law. I cannot let him out. And even if I had ever dreamed of trying such a hazardous experiment, it would, under present circumstances, be impossible.”
“But why impossible, Frank?” asked Mrs. Rowel.