XVII.
I returned to Rosemullion in a very disturbed frame of mind. Thenearer I approached the abode of mystery the stronger grew my doubtsof the truth of Mrs. Fortress's statement. All she had related was insuch complete accordance with a cunningly carried out scheme, wherebythe innocent were made to suffer, and she--the plotter--madecomfortable for life, that I accused myself for my egregious folly ingiving her story credence, and listening to it patiently. It was,however, impossible to allow the matter to stand as Mrs. Fortress hadleft it. Some further inquiry must take place, and my doubts clearedup before I would give my consent to the union of my son with GabrielCarew's daughter. I did not dare to run a risk so great until my mindwas fairly at ease. It was a relief to me when I reached my home thatReginald was not there to greet me. I knew what the tenor of hisconversation would be, and I wished to avoid it. He had, indeed, butone theme: Mildred; his heart and soul were meshed in his absorbinglove for the fair girl to whom there was a likelihood of a mostterrible inheritance having been transmitted.
I proceeded without delay to Rosemullion, and the first person whogreeted me on the threshold was Mrs. Carew. She expressed hersatisfaction at my return, and upon my inquiring for her husband, saidthat he was in his study, but that before I saw him she wished to havea few private words with me. It was then that I noted signs of troublein her face. She led me to the apartment which Gabriel Carew haddescribed as a sanctuary of rest, and at her bidding I sat down andawaited the communication she desired to make to me.
She commenced by saying that her husband had such complete confidencein me and she such faith in my wisdom, that, having a weight at herheart which was sorely disturbing her, she had resolved to ask myadvice, as a friend upon whom she could rely. I replied that her faithand her husband's confidence were not misplaced, and that it was myearnest wish to assist her if it lay in my power.
"It is not without my husband's permission," she said, "that I amspeaking to you now. He knows that I am uneasy about him, and hehimself suggested that I should consult you upon your return fromCornwall."
I was startled at learning that she was not ignorant of my visit toMrs. Fortress; I imagined that the affair was entirely between me andMr. Carew. I asked her if she was acquainted with the precise objectof my visit.
"No," she replied; "only that you have been on a visit to a nurse whowas in the service of my husband's family before the death of hisparents. I did not seek for further information, and my husband didnot volunteer any. Neither is he acquainted with the details of thematter I am about to open to you. I thought it best to keep it fromhim until I obtained counsel from a near and dear friend."
I inclined my head, and she continued:
"My husband informs me that he has related to you the fullestparticulars of his life, and that he has unbosomed himself to you withan unreserved confidence, such as no other person in the world hasbeen able to inspire."
"It is true," I said, "and I hold his confidence sacred, to be usedonly for our good."
"And for the good of our children," she said.
"Yes," I said, conscious of a strange note in my voice as I repeatedthe words, "and for the good of our children."
She detected the unusual note, gazed steadily at me for a moment, andproceeded, without commenting upon it.
"Knowing so much, you are familiar with my husband's nightlywanderings in the woods when he resided here with his parents?"
"Yes."
"He was aware of these nocturnal rambles?" she said. "He undertookthem consciously?"
"Certainly."
"He was always awake when he left the house and returned to it?"
"Always," I replied, surprised at the question.
"He has given me full permission to put any questions to you withrespect to the confidence he has reposed in you. 'If I have keptanything from you,' he said to me this morning, 'it has been done tosave you from uneasiness;' and he added with a smile that he hadconcealed nothing from me for which he had reason to reproach himself.Certain habits, contracted during a lonely youth, had left theirimpress upon him, and unusual as they were, there was no harm in them.'Of one thing be sure,' he said; 'I have lived a pure and blamelesslife.' I did not need his assurance to convince me of that. AsReginald's father, you should be glad to know it."
"I am glad to know it," I said, and again I was aware of the strangenote in my voice, "as Reginald's father and your husband's friend."
"I will explain," she said, "why I asked you whether my husband hadany reason to believe that occasionally he walked abroad at night whenhe was not awake. He has done so for some years past at certain timesand under certain circumstances. He did so last night."
"Is he not now aware of it?" I inquired.
"No, I have never informed him that he is a sleep-walker. My reasonfor keeping this knowledge from him is that I am convinced it wouldhave greatly distressed him; but what occurred last night has sodisturbed me that I can no longer be silent."
My suspicions of the truth of Mrs. Fortress's statement began to fade.Here was confirmation that the son had inherited one phase, at least,of his mother's disease.
"You remarked," I said, "that Mr. Carew has walked in his sleep forsome years past at certain times and in certain circumstances. Werethese circumstances of a special nature?"
"Yes--and all of one complexion; when something was known from whichhe feared danger."
"To himself?"
"I think not. To me and Mildred. I recall three occasions, which willsupply you with an index to the whole. Once there were reports in thepapers of a number of burglaries being committed in the neighbourhood,accompanied by deeds of violence. The burglars--there were three, aswas subsequently proved--were at liberty, and the efforts made todiscover and arrest them met with no success for several weeks. Duringthat period my husband rose regularly every night from bed, dressedhimself, and went out of the house, always returning, dressed as heleft the room. On one of these occasions I followed and watched him,and discovered that his aim was to guard us from danger. He remainedin the grounds around the house, holding a pistol. His actions werethose of an earnest, watchful guardian, and were guided by the mostsingular caution. Sometimes he would hide behind a tree, or crouchdown, concealed from view. When he was satisfied that there was nolonger any danger, he returned to the house, stepping very softly, andexamining the fastenings of the doors and windows."
"Did he rise in the morning with the appearance of a man who hadpassed a disturbed night?"
"No; he was always cheerful, and appeared to be quite refreshed bywhat he believed to be a good night's rest. At length, when theburglars were arrested he left the house no more for many months,until a workman whom he had employed, and whom he had reason todischarge, uttered threats against us. Then he again commenced hisnightly watch, which did not cease until he received information thatthe man had left the country. After that he enjoyed a long period ofrepose. The third occasion was when there was a report of the escapeof a dangerous madman from a lunatic asylum three or four miles fromRosemullion. Until this man was once more in safe custody, my husbandnever missed a night's watch during his sleep. You will gather fromthis explanation that he was always actuated by a good motive--toguard and protect those whom he loves."
"That seems clear," I said, "and what you have related is especiallyinteresting to me as a specialist, apart from my sincere friendshipfor you and yours."
"As a specialist!" she exclaimed. "Of what kind?"
Fortunately I arrested myself in time. The words which immediatelysuggested themselves to me in reply, remained unspoken. The truthwould have been too great a shock to this sweet lady.
"As one deeply interested," I answered, with an assuring smile, "inpsychological mysteries. What occurred yesterday to excite Mr. Carew?"
"He and I had been out riding. Upon our return one of our gardenersinformed my husband that a man had been seen lurking about thegrounds. The story told by the gardener is this: The str
anger, aforeigner, although he spoke good English, did not wait to be accostedby the gardener, but himself opened a conversation. He asked if thiswas Rosemullion. Yes. Did a family of the name of Carew live here?Yes. Was Mrs. Carew alive? Yes. Was Mr. Carew alive? Yes. Did theyhave any family? Yes, a daughter. What was her name? Miss Mildred.Could he see Mrs. Carew? Mrs. Carew was out driving. When would Ireturn, and was there any possibility of the stranger seeing me alone?The gardener could not say. It was not I, but my husband who put thesequestions to the gardener. Then Mr. Carew asked sternly what was thebribe that induced the gardener to answer the inquiries of a stranger,and he forced the truth from him. The stranger had given the gardenera foreign coin, which my husband insisted upon seeing. It was a pieceof French money. This part of the affair is completed by the admissionof the gardener that the stranger was apparently in poverty, as hispoor clothes betokened--and yet he had given the gardener money toanswer his questions! When the gardener was gone my husband said thatthe circumstance was very suspicious, and I thought so myself; thatthe stranger had some bad motive in thus intruding upon privateproperty, and that he would go in search of him. I asked to be allowedto accompany him, and after a slight hesitation he consented, sayingif the stranger came with innocent intent and we met him, that hecould say what he had to say to me in my husband's presence. Westrolled all round the grounds of Rosemullion, but saw no stranger.Then my husband said he would go into the woods, and that I had betterleave him; but I, fearing I knew not what, begged to be allowed toremain with him. Together we went into the woods, and for a long whilemet no person answering the description given by the gardener; butafter a while we saw a stranger a few yards in front of us. Ithappened that I was a little ahead of my husband at that moment, andthe stranger, turning and seeing me, thought that I was alone. He wasabout to hasten towards me when my husband stepped to my side. Withouthesitation the stranger abruptly turned from us, and, plunging intothe woods, was immediately lost to view."
Something in Mrs. Carew's manner at this point--which I should find itdifficult to explain--some premonition that this man she called astranger was really not so to her--caused me to ask,
"You saw his face?"
"Yes." And at this answer, tremblingly spoken, my premonition became acertainty.
"You recognised it?"
"Unless I am much mistaken--and with all my heart I pray to heaven Imay be!--it was a face once familiar to me."
It was not now for me to pursue the subject; it was for her to confidefreely in me, if such was her desire. There was a silence of a fewmoments before she resumed:
"My husband, having hidden nothing from you, has told you all thatoccurred in my dear native village, Nerac, before we were married?"
"He has told me all, I believe," I said.
"Of my beloved parents--of friends once dear to me--Eric, murdered,and the unhappy Emilius?"
"I am acquainted with all the particulars of that tragic event."
"Sadly changed, worn, haggard, and travel-stained, in the man we metin the forest I recognised Emilius."