As the great doctor prophesied, it was a long, slow recovery, and there were returns of the delirium and horrible nights when Glyddyr appeared to be haunted by one who was always reproaching him for some deed, and Sarah Woodham would sit, looking at him wildly, and with the past and her oath to her dead husband slowly revolving in her mind.
Then the invalid began to mend, and became constant in his demands for Claude.
“Where is she?” he would ask with a quick, jealous eagerness if she were away from his room for an hour; and on her return from one of the walks necessary for her health, he would cross-examine her, gazing at her searchingly, as to where she had been and whom she had seen.
Claude had nothing to conceal, and she answered him quietly and without resentment; but she did not—and she knew it—allay the pang of mad jealousy in her husband’s breast.
“It is a judgment on me,” she used to say, “for I gave him cause.”
Time glided on, and Glyddyr began to be about, at first in an invalid chair, and then he was able to walk up and down a little on the terraces of the Fort; and as the rough fishermen of the place saw him, there was a quiet nudge passed on, as they said that the new King of the Castle was not like the old.
As he grew better, he looked a haggard, sallow being, with wild, restless eyes, which appeared to be always on the lookout for some anticipated danger or trouble, and the sight of Chris Lisle passing in the distance was sufficient at any time to make him turn angrily upon his wife, and, clinging to her arm, bid her help him in doors.
Claude never showed even that she was hurt, but bore his taunts and peevish remarks patiently, always with the same grave, calm pale face. But in the solitude of her own room, or when clasped in Mary’s arms, she sobbed wildly at times to relieve her overladen breast.
Trevithick had his legal business to transact at the Fort, but he never resented the sneers and snarls of its owner, who was constantly making allusions as to the probable length of his bill.
“And I deserve it all, Mary, dear,” Trevithick used to say. “I could do it all by means of letters, except when I wanted a signature witnessed; but of course I sha’n’t charge.”