'Keep him at home, if possible. Do not place him with a lot of lunatics if you can help it. No proof he is crazy because he smells everything. My wife does the same. Her nose is over the registers half the time in winter to see if any gas is escaping from the furnace. And as to this Gretchen, it is possible there was some woman with him on the ship, or in New York, and he may be a little muddled there. You can inquire at the hotel where he stopped.'
This was Mr. St. Claire's advice, and Frank acted upon it, and took immediate steps to ascertain if there had been a lady in company with his brother at the Brevoort House, where he had stopped, or if there had been any one in his company on the ship, which was still lying in the dock at New York. But there no one had been with him. Arthur Tracy alone was registered among the list of passengers, and only Arthur Tracy was on the books at the hotel. He had come alone, and been alone on the sea and at the hotel.
Gretchen was a myth, or at least a mystery, though he still persisted that she would arrive with every train from Boston; and for nearly a week they humored him, and the carriage went to meet her, until at last there seemed to dawn upon his mind the possibility of a mistake, and when the carriage had made its twentieth trip for nothing, and Mr. St. Claire, who was standing by him on the platform when the train came up and brought no Gretchen, said to him:
'She did not come.'
'I am afraid she will never come,' he answered, sadly. 'No, she will never come. There has been some mistake. She will never come. Poor little Gretchen!' Then, after a moment he added, but there is a Gretchen, and I wrote to her to join me in Liverpool, and I thought she did and was with me on the ship and in the train, but sometimes, when my head is so hot, I get things mixed, and am not sure but—' and he looked wistfully in his companion's face, while his voice trembled a little. 'Don't let them shut me up; I have a suspicion that they will try it, but it will do no good. I was in an asylum nearly three years near Vienna; went of my own accord, because of that heat in my head.'
'Been in an asylum?' Mr. St. Claire said, wonderingly.
'Yes,' Arthur continued, 'I was only out three months ago. I wrote occasionally to Frank and Gretchen, but did not tell them where I was. They called it a maison de santé, and treated me well because I paid well, but the sight of so many crazy people made me worse, and if I had staid I should have been mad as the maddest of them. As it was, I forgot almost everything that ever happened, and fancied I was an Austrian. As soon as I came out I was better, though I was not quite myself till I got to Liverpool. Then things came back to me. Stand by me, St. Claire. I can see I am in the way, and Frank would like to be rid of me; but stand by me, and don't let them do it.'
His manner was very pleading, and like one who was in fear of something, and remembering the past when a golden-haired girl had begged him to save her from iron bars and bolts, Mr. St. Claire assured him of his support against any steps which might be taken to prove him mad enough for the asylum.
'But I would not come for Gretchen any more,' he said. 'I would give her a rest. Who is she?'
Instantly the old look of cunning came into Arthur's eyes, as he replied: