"It is true, Mr. Cassilis. God knows I would have spared you the knowledge. But it is true."
Gabriel Cassilis opened his lips as if to speak. But he refrained, stopping suddenly, because he recollected that he could no longer utter what he wished to say. Then he touched his mouth with his fingers like a dumb man. He was worse than a dumb man, who cannot speak at all, because his tongue, if he allowed it, uttered words which had no connection with his thoughts. Men that have been called possessed of the devil have knelt at altars, uttering blasphemous impieties when their souls were full of prayer.
"Do you understand me, Mr. Cassilis? Do you comprehend what I am saying?"
He nodded his head.
Colquhoun took a piece of notepaper from the writing-table, and laid it before him with a pencil. Mr. Cassilis grasped the pencil eagerly, and began to write. From his fingers, as from his tongue, came the sentence which he did not wish to write—
"A fine day, and seasonable weather for the time of year."
He looked at this result with sorrowful heart, and showed it to Colquhoun, shaking his head.
"Good heavens?" cried Colquhoun, "his mind is gone."
Gabriel Cassilis touched him on the arm and shook his head.
"He understands you, Lawrence," said Phillis; "but he cannot explain himself. Something has gone wrong with him which we do not know."