And suddenly the dark face turned with a shudder from the fire, and spoke in a low trembling voice. ‘Only one thing—only one thing—my sanity, my sanity. If once I forget, who will believe me?’ He thrust his long lean fingers beneath his coat. ‘And mad,’ he added; ‘I would sooner die.’
Mr Bethany deliberately adjusted his spectacles. ‘May I, may I experiment?’ he said boldly. There came a tap on the door.
‘Bless me,’ said the vicar, taking out his watch, ‘it is a quarter to twelve. ‘Yes, yes, Mrs Lawford,’ he trotted round to the door. ‘We are beginning to see light—a ray!’
‘But I—I can see in the dark,’ whispered Lawford, as if at a cue, turning with an inscrutable smile to the fire.
The vicar came again, wrapped up in a little tight grey great-coat, and a white silk muffler. He looked up unflinching into Lawford’s face, and tears stood in his eyes. ‘Patience, patience, my dear fellow,’ he repeated gravely, squeezing his hand. ‘And rest, complete rest, is imperative. Just till the first thing to-morrow. And till then,’ he turned to Mrs Lawford, where she stood looking in at the doorway, ‘oh yes, complete quiet; and caution!’
Mrs Lawford let him out. He shook his head once or twice, holding her fingers. ‘Oh yes,’ he whispered, ‘it is your husband, not the smallest doubt. I tried: for myself. But something—something has happened. Don’t fret him now. Have patience. Oh yes, it is incredible... the change! But there, the very first thing to-morrow.’ She closed the door gently after him, and stepping softly back to the dining-room, peered in. Her husband’s back was turned, but he could see her in the looking-glass, stooping a little, with set face watching him, in the silvery stillness.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘is the old—’ he doggedly met the fixed eyes facing him there, ‘is our old friend gone?’
‘Yes,’ said Sheila, ‘he’s gone.’ Lawford sighed and turned round. ‘It’s useless talking now, Sheila. No more questions. I cannot tell you how tired I am. And my head—’
‘What is wrong with your head?’ inquired his wife discreetly.
The haggard face turned gravely and patiently. ‘Only one of my old headaches,’ he smiled, ‘my old bilious headaches—the hereditary Lawford variety.’ But his voice fell low again. ‘We must get to bed.’