“No, don't curse the Law. Curse the Act if you like; but we can't get on without the Law, neither of us. Try again.”
“The certifying doctor, sir?”
“Humph!” said Mr. Compton, knitting his brows: “a jury might give you a verdict. But it would probably be set aside by the full court, or else by a court of error. For, unless you could prove informality, barefaced negligence, or mala fides, what does it come to? A professional man, bound to give medical opinions to all comers, is consulted about you, and says he thinks you are insane: you turn out sane. Well, then, he was mistaken: but not more than he is in most of his professional opinions. We lawyers know what guesswork Medicine is: we see it in the witness-box. I hate suing opinions: it is like firing bullets at snipes in a wind. Try again.”
Alfred groaned. “Why there is nobody left but the rogue who signed the order.”
“And if you were a lawyer, that alone would tell you he is the defendant. Where a legal wrong has been committed by A. B. and C., and there is no remedy against A. or B., there must either be one against C., or none at all: but this Law abhors as Nature does a vacuum. Besides, this defendant has done the wrong complained of. In his person you sue an act, not an opinion. But of course you are not cool enough to see all this just at first.”
“Cool, sir,” said Alfred despairingly; “I am frozen with your remorseless law. What, of all these villains, may I only attack one, and can't I imprison even him, as he has me? Such narrow law encourages men to violence, who burn under wrongs like mine.”
Mr. Compton looked keenly at his agitated, mortified client, but made no concession. He gave him a minute to digest the law's first bitter pill: and then said, “If I am to act for you, you had better write a line to the Commissioners of Lunacy requesting them to hand me copies of the order and certificates.” Alfred wrote it.
“And now,” said Mr. Compton thoughtfully, “I don't think they will venture to recapture you during the fourteen days. But still they might; and we attorneys are wary animals. So please give me at once a full authority to act under advice of counsel for your protection.”
Alfred wrote as requested, and Mr. Compton put the paper in his drawer, remarking, “With this I can proceed by law or equity, even should you get into the asylum again.” He then dismissed Alfred somewhat abruptly, but with an invitation to call again after three clear days. Like most ardent suitors after their first interview with passionless law, he went away sadly chilled, and so home to his cheerless lodging, to count the hours till he could see Julia, and learn his fate from her lips.
This very morning a hasty note came to Edward from Folkestone, worded thus: