“Have you no recollection,” I suggested, “of having been with your father since then, a short time ago, in Cornwall?”
“Ah! that is my brother,” he quickly returned. “Yes, he was with my father, when he took ill—been with him too long, in fact, for the good of either. My father, I am sorry to say, has for some time been quite unhinged mentally.”
I should think he has, was my inward comment, for I saw it all in a moment. There were two young Wygrams; both of these I had seen when they were youngsters of the same age. Why had I not thought of this before? Is it not my special weakness that things dawn upon me very slowly? The rest, of course, was Dr. Wygram’s delusion, ultimately necessitating his being placed under the care of his friends.
“My dear sir,” I replied, after a pause, and with some effusion of manner, “I sincerely trust that your father’s distressing illness may be but temporary. On his being able to receive the message, kindly present him with my warmest regards. Meanwhile, one question more before we part, for I am not going by this train; I—I have changed my mind. How many years, may I ask, may there be between your own age and that of your brother?”
“About fourteen or fifteen,” was the reply.
“Quite so; and when you were youngsters of about the same age, say, were you not considered very like one another?”
“Remarkably so,” he answered, laughingly, “as like as two peas.”
G. M. McCrie.