"Our love does not want brightening," she answered, with a sob. "But since you must go, I will pray to the Blessed Virgin to watch over you and bring you safe back to me; for though you do not love her as I do, she loves you and will never forsake you."
I kissed her, and in a few hours after we parted.
I reached London late at night, and next morning drove to the house of my friend. He received me very cordially. I learned to my regret that Dr. F—— had been suddenly summoned to the death-bed of a near relation, and was not likely to return for three days. I thought more of Geraldine than myself. But my friend consoled me by saying that my absence might benefit her; anxiety for my return would give definite occupation to her mind; the longer indeed my absence was protracted the better, for fear and hope would steady by their weight the vibrations of her reason, while expectancy would serve as a leader to her thoughts, marshal them and keep them in a kind of logical order.
I wrote to her, saying that my return was unavoidably delayed, but promised I would do my utmost to be with her on Wednesday. I added that in all probability I should return with a friend, and desired her to tell Mrs. Williams to get the spare room ready.
On the Tuesday afternoon I met Dr. F—— by appointment at the house of my friend. I found him reserved, but gentlemanly. He asked me many questions about my wife, to all which I replied as fully as I could. He announced his willingness to return with me and to give his opinion; and in reply to my inquiry named a fee which I thought sufficiently moderate.
We left London next morning by an early train and reached Cornpool at about three in the afternoon. I had telegraphed for my phaeton to be in waiting and a little after four we halted at the gate of Elmore Court.
Mrs. Williams received us. I asked anxiously after Geraldine. Dr. F—— drew near to hear the reply.
"I cannot tell what has come over her, Sir. Since yesterday she has been as changed as though she had been suddenly taken with illness. She fretted a little after you left, but she cleared up before long, and got talking with me on the pleasure it gave her to think of your return. I couldn't help taking notice that she talked much more rationally than she used, and I thought that the health of her mind might be coming back to her. But yesterday morning, when she came down to breakfast, I was shocked by her looks. She was white as a sheet; her eyes rolled, and she talked so wildly and quick I couldn't follow her. My fear was that something had happened to you, Sir. But when I asked her if she had heard bad news from master, she clutched me by the arm and cried out piteously, 'Is there bad news? is there bad news?' I answered, 'Not that I know of.' On which she left me, and stood muttering to herself."
"But where is she now?" I asked.
"She should be in the drawing-room, Sir."