“Just look at me,” he said. “Does it strike you that I am at all wrong in my mind? Tell me the truth, old fellow.”
“Your nerves are a little shaken, Horace. Nothing more.”
He considered again after that reply, his eyes remaining anxiously fixed on Julian’s face.
“My nerves are a little shaken,” he repeated. “That is true; I feel they are shaken. I should like, if you don’t mind, to make sure that it’s no worse. Will you help me to try if my memory is all right?”
“I will do anything you like.”
“Ah! you are a good fellow, Julian—and a clear-headed fellow too, which is very important just now. Look here! I say it’s about a week since the troubles began in this house. Do you say so too?”
“Yes.”
“The troubles came in with the coming of a woman from Germany, a stranger to us, who behaved very violently in the dining-room there. Am I right, so far?”
“Quite right.”
“The woman carried matters with a high hand. She claimed Colonel Roseberry—I wish to be strictly accurate—she claimed the late Colonel Roseberry as her father. She told a tiresome story about her having been robbed of her papers and her name by an impostor who had personated her. She said the name of the impostor was Mercy Merrick. And she afterward put the climax to it all: she pointed to the lady who is engaged to be my wife, and declared that she was Mercy Merrick. Tell me again, is that right or wrong?”