Theodore walked moodily along the lane leading to the West Gate, brooding over discrepancies and difficulties in the case which he had set himself to unravel. As he drew near Mrs. Porter’s cottage he saw Lord Cheriton come out of the porch, unattended. He came slowly down the steps to the gate, with his head bent, and his shoulders stooping wearily, an attitude which was totally unlike his usual erect carriage, an attitude which told distinctly of mental trouble.
Theodore overtook him, and walked by his side, at the risk of being considered intrusive. He was very curious as to his kinsman’s motive for visiting Mrs. Porter, after yesterday’s conversation about Mercy.
“Have you been trying to bring about a reconciliation between mother and daughter?” he asked.
“No. I have told you that little good could result from bringing those two obstinate spirits together. You have seen for yourself what the daughter can be—how perverse, how cruel, what a creature of prejudice and whim. The mother’s nature is still harder. What good could come of bringing such a daughter back to such a mother? No, it was with no hope of reconciliation that I called upon Mrs. Porter. I have been thinking very seriously of your friend Ramsay’s suggestion of mental trouble. I regret that I did not act upon the hint sooner, and get my friend Mainwaring to see her, and advise upon the case. I shall certainly consult him about her—but as he has a very important practice, and a large establishment under his care, it may be very difficult for him to come to Cheriton. I think, therefore, it might be well to send her up to the neighbourhood of London—to some quiet northern suburb, for instance, within half an hour’s drive of Mainwaring’s asylum, which is near Cheshunt; then, if it should be deemed advisable to place her under restraint for a time—though I cannot suppose that likely—the business could be easily accomplished.
“Your idea then would be——”
“To take her up to London, with her servant, as soon as I have found comfortable lodgings for her in a quiet neighbourhood. I have proposed the journey to her this afternoon, on the ground of her being out of health and in need of special advice. I told her that people had remarked upon her altered appearance, and that I was anxious she should have the best medical care. She did not deny that she was ailing. I think, therefore, there will be very little difficulty in getting her away when I am ready to remove her.”
“What is your own impression as to her mental condition?”
“I regret to say that my impression very much resembles that of your friend. I see a great change in her since I last had any conversation with her. Yes, I fear that there is something amiss, and that it is no longer well for her to live in that cottage, with a young girl for her only companion. It would be far better for her to be in a private asylum—where, hers being a very mild case, life might be made easy and agreeable for her. I know my friend Mainwaring to be a man of infinite benevolence, and that there would be nothing wanting to lighten her burden.”
He sighed heavily. There was a look in his face of unutterable care, of a despondency which saw no issue, no ray of light far off in the thickening gloom. Theodore thought he looked aged by several years since yesterday, as if the evidence of the pistol had struck him to the heart.
“He knows now that it was his own sin that brought about this evil,” thought Theodore.