For the rest, stunned and enfeebled, it was to him but as a dark bewildered dream, wherein he played his part; nor knew whether friend or foe were standing by his side, if those who loved, or those who hated him, were mingling in the solemn rite. The darkness of the sepulchre seemed to have engulphed every sense or feeling of his soul.
He was taken home from the church almost in a state of insensibility, from which it seems that he awoke only too soon to consciousness and woe. Late in the evening, at dark, he was heard by some of the awed domestics seeking the deserted apartment of their mistress, and the following morning was not to be found within the house.
This was reported, and after some search the miserable young man was discovered, wet with the dews of heaven, stretched upon the turf which enclosed the family mausoleum, which had been open to receive the remains of his mother, and where he had probably lain all night.
He was carried back to his chamber, and placed under medical care, his brother showing much anxious solicitude on his behalf. The doctor, however, the common attendant on the family, pronounced his malady to be merely the effect of long fasting, watching and mental distress, and which it only required proper measures to allay; whilst for the better assurance of these measures being carried out, the worthy practitioner placed his patient under the peculiar care and superintendance of his great ally, Mrs. Marryott, whose skill and prudence he held in most subservient and sycophantish esteem. And with most seeming assiduity, Mrs. Marryott entered upon the duties thus imposed.
If anything were likely to fan into flame the fever, already raging in the veins of the unhappy Eustace it would be, as is easily to be supposed, this most repugnant infliction he was powerless to resist. In vain he protested, as far as his feeble strength would allow him, against the repugnant imposition of such odious services upon him, entreating the assistance of his brother in his release, repulsing the detested woman's attentions, and refusing to touch the food or medicines offered by her hand.
His brother soothed or reasoned. The doctor told him he must not be agitated—felt his pulse, shook his head. Still that Marryott's hateful face, with its serpent smile, hung over him, uttering smooth words in oily accents in his shrinking ear, or creeping noiselessly about the room, whilst his fascinated eye fain would follow loathingly. No wonder, then, maddened and excited, that the fever raged more intensely, till, mounting higher and higher, his very brain seemed on fire; every image, loved or hated, became distorted and indistinct to his mind; till, finally, he lay prostrate, raving, struggling, delirious, beneath the power of that fearful malady, which had attacked him once before—a brain fever!
It was a cold, stormy November night. The father and son sat together close beside the library fire, after dinner; the latter musing absently over a newspaper he held before him, the former deep in the examination of an old leather pocket-book, where accounts and memorandums concerning money matters were noted down.
The door opened; both looked sharply round: it was Marryott. She put her head in at the door, and begged Mr. Eugene to come and speak to her. Eugene turned pale, started up, and hastened to obey the summons. Mr. Trevor looked after him, put his note-book carefully into his pocket, picked up, and appeared to peruse the newspaper his son had thrown down; but ever and anon, at every sound that met his ear, his small dark eye might be seen peering eagerly towards the door.
"Well, well," turning eagerly towards Eugene, as he entered, looking still paler than when he left the room, but taking his seat as before, without speaking a word; "well, well, what's the matter? Where have you been?"