The two men carried him back up the flight of steps, not daring to try the experiment of the passage leading to the library.
“I suppose Uncle Stephen has known these passages since he was a child,” said Stephen in a low voice to Bab as they passed through the attic, “and when his attendant is asleep, no doubt he steals off and wanders about the house. I believe he has always had a mania that he was being pursued by the Italian boatman; and when José followed him, right on top of his meeting with you, it was too much for the old fellow.”
“He’s a dear old man,” returned Bab, “and how he must have suffered all these years; that is, whenever his memory returned.”
“And think of the hermit, too, who sacrificed his entire career for you, Miss, just because you never learned to swim.”
Bab smiled. “If my Aunt Barbara had lived by the sea as I have, she would never have had to wait for boatmen and lovers to pull her out of the deep water. Swimming is as easy as walking to me.”
“I am glad you’ve learned wisdom in your old age,” replied Stephen as they paused at the door of the bedroom given to José.
“There is one thing I cannot believe,” declared Bab, “and that is that the hermit swam off and left Aunt Barbara to drown.”
“Who knows?” answered Stephen. “People lose their heads strangely sometimes.”
It was Alfred, destined to be a great doctor, who set José’s leg that night.