“Good God!” I cried, “does Eustace suppose that I doubt his innocence?”
“He denies that it is possible for you or for anybody to believe in his innocence,” the Major replied.
“Help me to the door,” I said. “Where is he? I must and will see him!”
I dropped back exhausted on the sofa as I said the words. Major Fitz-David poured out a glass of wine from the bottle on the table, and insisted on my drinking it.
“You shall see him,” said the Major. “I promise you that. The doctor has forbidden him to leave the house until you have seen him. Only wait a little! My poor, dear lady, wait, if it is only for a few minutes, until you are stronger.”
I had no choice but to obey him. Oh, those miserable, helpless minutes on the sofa! I cannot write of them without shuddering at the recollection—even at this distance of time.
“Bring him here!” I said. “Pray, pray bring him here!”
“Who is to persuade him to come back?” asked the Major, sadly. “How can I, how can anybody, prevail with a man—a madman I had almost said!—who could leave you at the moment when you first opened your eyes on him? I saw Eustace alone in the next room while the doctor was in attendance on you. I tried to shake his obstinate distrust of your belief in his innocence and of my belief in his innocence by every argument and every appeal that an old friend could address to him. He had but one answer to give me. Reason as I might, and plead as I might, he still persisted in referring me to the Scotch Verdict.”
“The Scotch Verdict?” I repeated. “What is that?”
The Major looked surprised at the question.