The doctor then told him sorrowfully he must pack up his things—Dr. Wolf's keepers were waiting for him.
The moment of parting came. Then Alfred solemnly forgave Dr. Wycherley for signing away his wits, and thanked him for all his kindness and humanity. “We shall never meet again, I fear,” said he; “I feel a weight of foreboding here about my heart I never felt before; yet my trials have been many and great. I think the end is at hand.” Dr. Wolf's keepers received him, and their first act was to handcuff him. The cold steel struck into him deeper than his wrist, and reminded him of Silverton Grove; he could not suppress a shudder. The carriage rolled all through London with him. He saw the Parks with autumn's brown and golden tints: he saw the people, some rich, some poor, but none of them prisoners. He saw a little girl all rags. “Oh if I could be as ragged as you are,” he said, “and free.”
At last they reached Drayton House—a huge old mansion, fortified into a jail. His handcuffs were whipped off in the yard. He was ushered into a large gloomy drawing-room. Dr. Wolf soon came to him, and they measured each other by the eye like two prize-fighters. Dr. Wolf's eye fell under Alfred's, and the latter felt he was capable of much foul play. He was one of the old bull-necked breed: and contained the bull-dog and the spaniel in his single nature. “I hope you will be comfortable here, sir,” said he doggedly.
“I will try, sir.”
“The first-class patients dine in half an hour.”
“I will be ready, sir.”
“Full dress in the evening; there are several ladies.” Alfred assented by a bow. Dr. Wolf rang a bell, and told a servant to show Mr. Hardie his room.
He had just time to make his toilet when the bell rang for dinner.
As he went down a nurse met him, held up something white to him as she came, lowered it quickly, and dropped it at his feet in passing.
It was a billet-doux.