I informed him of Gwen's condition and he wished to go to her at once, but I told him he must wait until the morrow, as she had already retired, and was, I had reason to hope, fast asleep.I reassured him with the information that a night's sleep and the medicine I had given her would probably put Gwen in full possession of her faculties.Having thus satisfied his fears, I thought it fitting he should satisfy mine.I asked him what had become of the young woman in the next room.He did not reply, but quietly led me into his camera obscura that I might see for myself.She was sitting at the table in the centre of the room, with her face buried in her hands.I watched her for a long time, and the only movement I could discern was that occasioned ever and anon by a convulsive catching of her breath.The pet monkey was nowhere to be seen."They took her father away early this morning," Maitland said, "and, after the first shock, she sank into this condition.She has not moved since.When I see the despair her father's arrest has occasioned I am almost tempted to rejoice that I had no hand in it, and yet - well, there's no great harm without some small good - no one will say now that John Darrow took his own life, eh? What do you think our friends, Osborne and Allen, will say now? They were so sure their theory was the only tenable one.Ah, well! we should ever hold ourselves in readiness=20 for surprises.""And for emergencies too," I continued; "and this strikes me as being very like one.That young woman needs attention, if I am any judge of appearances, and I'm going in there." "No use, Doc," Maitland replied,"the door is locked, and she either cannot or will not open it.I knocked there for an hour, hoping to be able to comfort her.It's no use for you to try, she won't open the door." "Won't, eh! then I'll go through it!" I exclaimed, in a tone that so amazed Maitland that he seized me by the shoulders and gazed fixedly into my face."It's all right, George," I said, answering his look."I'm going in there, and I'm not going to be at all delicate about my entrance either."He looked at me a little doubtfully, but I could see that, on the whole, he was pleased with my decision.I went into the hall and knocked loudly on the door.There was no response.I kicked it till I must have been heard all over the house, but still there was no response.It was now clear I should not enter by invitation, so I went up four or five stairs of the flight opposite the door and from that position sprang against it.I am not, if you remember, a heavy man, but momentum is MV and I made up in the 'V' what I lacked in the 'M.' The door opened inwardly, and I tore it from its hinges and precipitated both myself and it into the centre of the apartment.As I look back upon this incident I regard it as the most precipitous thing I ever did in the way of a professional visit.If the young lady started at all, she did so before I had gathered myself together sufficiently to notice it.I spoke to her, but she gave no evidence of hearing me.I raised her head.Her eyes were wide open and stared full at me, yet in such a blank way that I knew she did not hear me.The contraction of the brows, the knotted appearance of the forehead, and the rigor of the face told me she was under an all-but-breaking tension.There were tear-stains from tears which long since had ceased to flow.The fire of fever had dried them up.I regarded her case as far more desperate than Gwen's and determined to lose no time in taking charge of it.It seemed to me so like sacrilege to touch her without an explanation that, though I knew she could not understand me, I said to her, as I took her in my arms."You are ill, and I must take you away from here."She was just blossoming into womanhood and her form had that exquisite roundness and grace which it is the particular function of fashion to annihilate.If I held her closely, I think all bachelors will agree that it was because this very roundness made her heavy; if I did not put her downimmediately I reached Maitland's room, it is because, as a doctor of medicine, I have my own ideas as to how a couch should be fixed before a patient is laid upon it.Maitland may say what he pleases, but I know how important these things are in sickness, and you know, quick as he is in most things, George has moments when his head is so much in the clouds that he doesn't know what he is doing, and moves as if he were in a dream set to dirge music.He kept telling me to "put her on the couch! - put her on the couch!" To this day, he fondly believes that when I finally did release her, it was as the result of his advice, rather than because he had at last made a suitable bed for her.
I sent Maitland for some medicine, which I knew would relax the tension she was under and make it possible for her to sleep.When I had administered this, Maitland and I talked the matter over and we decided to take her at once to my house, where, with Gwen, she could share the watchful care of my sister Alice.This we did, though I was not without some misgivings as to Gwen's attitude in the matter when she should recover sufficiently to know of it.I expressed my doubts to Maitland and he replied: "Give yourself no uneasiness on that score; Miss Darrow is too womanly to visit the sins of a guilty father upon an unoffending daughter, and, besides, this man, - it seems that his real name is Latour, not Cazenove, -=20 has a right to be judged innocent until his guilt is proved." I found this to be sage counsel, for, when Gwen was able to understand what I had done, she exhibited no antipathy toward the new member of our household, but, on the contrary, became exceedingly interested in her.I was especially glad of this, not only on account of Miss Latour, the suspect's daughter, but also because the one thing Gwen needed above all others was something to challenge her interest.She had again relapsed into the old, state of passive endurance, wherein nothing seemed to reach her consciousness.Her actions appeared to flow more from her nerve- centres than from her mind.She moved like an automaton.There is scarcely any condition of which I am more fearful than this.The patient becomes wax in one's hands.She will do anything without a murmur, or as willingly refrain from anything.She simply is indifferent to life and all that therein is.Is it any wonder, then, that I rejoiced to see Gweninterest herself in poor Jeannette? It was a long time, however, before Jeannette repaid this interest with anything more than a dreamy, far-off gaze, that refused to focus itself upon anything.As time wore on, however, I noticed with relief that there was a faint expression of wonder in her look, and, as this daily grew stronger, I knew she was beginning to realise her novel surroundings and to ask herself if she were still dreaming.Yet she did not speak; she seemed to fear the sound of her own voice and to determine to solve, unaided, the mystery confronting her.I requested that no one question her or make any attempt to induce her to break silence, for I knew the time would come when she would do so of her own free will.As it happened, her first words were spoken to me, and, as my writing this recalls the event, a thrill of pleasurable pain passes through me.You may think this foolish, the more so, indeed, when you learn that nothing was said to warrant such a feeling, but I must urge upon you not to let your satisfied heart set itself up as judge in bachelor regions.
I had been mixing some medicine for her and was holding the cup to her lips that she might drink the draught.She laid her hand upon my wrist and gently put the cup aside, saying, as she gazed thoughtfully at me: "Did you not bring me here?" "Yes," I replied.She reached for the cup, and drinking its contents, sank back upon the pillows with a half-satisfied look upon her face, as if my reply had cleared up one mystery, but left many more to be solved.
>From this day Jeannette steadily improved, and within two weeks she and Gwen had come to a very good understanding.It was plainly evident that Alice, too, came in for a very good share of the little French girl's love.They did not exchange confidences to any great degree, for, as Maitland used to say, Alice was one of those rare, sweet women who say but little, but seem to act upon all around them by a sort of catalysis, sweetening the atmosphere by their very presence.
