"But she will not be taken away. In all ordinary matters she is as sane as I am; as capable of judging, of arguing, and of sensibly acting. It is only now and then that a sort of paroxysm comes over her. It may be only violent passion, to which you know she has ever been subject; but, it may be something worse. She is then, as I believe, incapable of controlling her actions; and should she find an opportunity of doing an injury at these times he might do it. There are two people in this house against whom I can see she is desperately incensed: Miss Beauclerc and Honour Tritton. Should she find herself alone with either of them in one of these paroxysms----"
Mrs. Darling stopped. The subject was too painful to continue. But the surgeon took up the thread in a quiet tone.
"We might have a second edition of the Alnwick tragedy."
Mrs. Darling--he could see it in the bright night--seemed to recoil a step. But she strove to answer with more than customary calmness.
"The Alnwick tragedy! I do not understand."
"When Alnwick's heir was--killed."
"Oh, Mr. Pym, Mr. Pym! you cannot think that was anything but a miserable accident?" cried the unfortunate mother. "It was nothing else. Honour alone was in fault."
"It may be that we shall never know," he answered. "My impression--nay, my belief--you and I had better be outspoken now, Mrs. Darling--always was, that Mrs. Carleton had something to do with that. I think at the time you entertained the same opinion."
Mrs. Darling made no answer. She walked on, her scared face raised in that tell-tale moonlight; her very lips white.
"I thought the probabilities, knowing what you and I know, were greatly against her at the time," repeated the surgeon; "I think them greater now. You are aware, I presume, that the imaginary image of Benja and the lighted church haunted her for months? And in that show of lanterns in France, on St. Martin's Eve----"