“And you know now that it was only a fancy?”
“I do,” said Huish. “Can you find my wife? Use every plan you can to rescue her from—”
“You had better not talk, my boy,” said the doctor, laying his cool hand upon the patient’s head, to find it, however, as cool. “She is quite safe—at her uncle’s.”
“Is—is this true?” said Huish eagerly. “You are not deceiving me?”
“My dear boy, I would not deceive you; but now be calm and quiet, or I will not answer for the consequences. You see, I do not even ask you about your encounter with the man that did this, although I am full of curiosity; for I have heard a strangely confused account.”
“Tell me one thing, doctor, and then I will ask no more,” said Huish faintly. “You knew my father before I was born. Had I ever a brother?”
The doctor’s brow knit, and then he nodded.
“Yes, I believe so; but it is a sad story. Don’t ask any more. He died in infancy: at birth, I believe.”
“No,” said Huish calmly; “he lived.”
Dr Stonor sat watching the injured man, to see him sink into a calm, easy slumber, and on repeating his visit next day found him very weak, but refreshed and perfectly calm, and ready to converse upon the subject of his brother, when, feeling bound, under the circumstances, he told the wounded man what he knew of the past—of the encounter between Robert Millet and the elder Huish, and the latter’s marriage to Mary Riversley, while Captain Millet, who was terribly injured by his fall, had taken to his peculiar life, and held to it ever since.