"It is a great misfortune that Mrs. Andinnian should have taken poor Sir Adam's death so much to heart," Mr. Moore one day observed to Karl, when he found his patient exhausted, restless, in all ways worse. "While she cultivates this unhappy frame of mind, we can do nothing for her."
"Her love for my brother was a great love, Mr. Moore; quite passing the ordinary love of mothers."
"No doubt of that. Still, Sir Karl, it is not right to let regret for his death kill her."
Karl turned the conversation. He knew how wrong were the surgeon's premises. Her regret for his brother's death had been terrible: but it was not that that was killing Mrs. Andinnian.
The days went on, Mrs. Andinnian growing weaker and weaker. Her mind had regained unfortunately all its activity: unfortunately because she had not strength of body to counterbalance its workings. Karl had a great deal to do for her: consultations to hold with her and letters to write; but even yet he was not admitted to her full confidence. During that night's interview with her, when he had learned so much, he had enquired who the gentleman was that had called and taken luncheon. Mrs. Andinnian had declined to answer him, further than it was a Mr. Smith who had applied for the agency of Sir Karl's estate. Hewitt informed him that Mr. Smith had called again the very day succeeding Sir Karl's departure. He had held a long interview with Mrs. Andinnian, and she had never been well since that hour.
It was very strange: strange altogether. Karl now found out that Mr. Smith had been appointed the agent, and had had a house side by side with Foxwood Court assigned to him as his residence. The information nearly struck Karl dumb. He felt sure there was more behind, some inexplicable cause for this: but no more satisfactory explanation could he obtain from his mother. " She was ill, he was going to live abroad, therefore it was necessary some responsible person should be on the spot to look after things," was all she said. And Mr. Smith arrived at Foxwood and took up his abode: and Sir Karl did not dare to forbid it.
To Karl's intense surprise, the next letter he had from his wife was dated London. They had left Paris and come over. With his whole heart Karl hoped they would not be coming to Foxwood; and in his answering letter he talked a good deal about the "fever."
As to himself, he was wearing to a shadow. One might surely have thought he had a fever, and a wasting one. In writing to Mrs. Cleeve he admitted he was not well; and she wrote him back four pages full of instructions for fumigation, and beseeching him not to come to them. There is nothing like trouble to wear out a man.
The event that had been prognosticated by the doctors and feared by Karl took place--Mrs. Andinnian died. In the midst of praying for a few days' longer life, she died. Only a few days, had run her incessant prayer; a few days! Karl's anguish, what with the death, and what with the weight of other things, seemed more than he could bear. Mrs. Andinnian's grave was made close to that of her son Adam: and the funeral was a very quiet one.
Karl remained at Foxwood, ostensibly fumigating the house and himself preparatory to joining his wife in town. He looked as much like a skeleton as a man. Mr. Moore noticed it, and asked what was coming to him.