This was a clear change of subject. Mr. Cochrane was put aside for a little, and Catherine could not help noticing that Maud seemed relieved.
“Ah, you mean Thurso?” she said quickly, letting her book slide to the ground.
“Yes; and I want to talk to you about him, for I believe you are wise, and I feel helpless. I don’t know what to do. Last night, I must tell you, I went straight to his room after leaving you dressing. He had just taken laudanum, not because he had any headache, but because he longed for it.”
Maud clasped her hands together and gave a little pitiful sound, half sigh, half moan.
“Ah, the poor fellow!” she said. “Yes?”
“And—and he lied to me,” said Catherine, “and said he had not been taking it, and there was the glass smelling of it by his side. Then he was very angry with me for a little, and said I had spoiled everything, but eventually he gave me the bottle and let me pour it away. I did, and I threw the bottle into the shrubbery.”
Maud’s eye brightened.
“Ah! that’s better,” she said. “He can still fight it.”
Catherine shook her head.
“That’s not all,” she said, “and the rest is so dreadful, and so pathetic. I couldn’t sleep last night, and it must have been about two in the morning when I got out of bed and went to the window and sat there a little. And I saw Thurso come along the path, and he lit a match and found the bottle. Then he took it—it was bright moonlight; I could see quite clearly—and literally sucked it, to see if there was not a drop or two left.”