“At last the Professor ordered me to get ready the Yellow Room for the Scot.
“‘Is he alive, then?’ I asked without reflection.
“‘Only half,’ said Lerne, ‘he is mad. This is the sad result of your folly, Emma. First of all he thought himself God Almighty, then the Tower of London. At present he thinks he’s a dog. To-morrow he will suffer from some other delusion, no doubt.’
“‘What have you done to him?’ I cried out.
“‘Little girl,’ said the Professor, ‘nothing has been done to him, just you remember that, and bite your tongue if you ever think of gossiping. When I carried off Macbeth after our struggle in the dining-room, it was so that I might look after him. You saw he fainted. He injured his head badly in his fall. That caused a lesion, and then madness. That was all, you understand?’
“I said nothing more, because I was certain that if your uncle had not put an end to Donovan, his only motive was fear of the family, and the law.
“That evening they brought him back to the château—his head all wrapped in bandages. He did not recognize me.
“I still loved him, and I visited him secretly.
“He got better quickly. Being shut up made him put on fat. The Macbeth of the photograph, and the Macbeth of the Yellow Room, became very unlike each other, so much so, that you did not recognize him at first.”
“But tell me—you do not know anything about Klotz? What did my uncle do with him? You said a moment ago he had been sent away.”