“Then that was it!” cried Frank, wildly. “It was then——when the light was put out——when he crossed the garden——when he opened the wicket—”
A burst of hysteric laughter broke from him, and muttering, “I saw it, ——I saw it all,” he fell back fainting into Grounsell's arms.
All the doctor's care and judicious treatment were insufficient to recall the youth to himself. His nervous system, shattered and broken by long illness, was evidently unequal to the burden of the emotions he was suffering under, and before he reached the hotel his mind was wandering away in all the incoherency of actual madness.
Next to the unhappy youth himself, Grounsell's case was the most pitiable. Unable to account for the terrible consequences of the scene whose events were a secret to himself, he felt all the responsibility of a calamity he had been instrumental in producing. From Frank it was utterly hopeless to look for any explanation; already his brain was filled with wild images of war and battle, mingled with broken memories of a scene which none around his bed could recognize. In his distraction Grounsell hurried to the jail to see and interrogate Meekins. Agitated and distracted as he was, all his prudent reserve and calm forethought were completely forgotten. He saw himself the cause of a dreadful affliction, and already cured in his heart the wiles and snares in which he was engaged. “If this boy's reason be lost forever, I, and I only, am in fault,” he went on repeating as he drove in mad haste back to the prison.
In a few and scarcely coherent words he explained to Gray his wish to see the prisoner, and although apprised that he had already gone to rest, he persisted strongly, and was at length admitted into his cell.
Meekins started at the sound of the opening door, and called out gruffly, “Who's there?”
“It's your friend,” said Grounsell, who had already determined on any sacrifice of his policy which should give him the hope of aiding Frank.
“My friend!” said Meekins, with a dry laugh. “Since when, sir?”
“Since I have begun to believe I may have wronged you, Meekins,” said Grounsell, seating himself at the bedside.
“I see, sir,” rejoined the other, slowly; “I see it all. Mr. Dalton has told you what passed between us, and you are wiser than he was.”