The Man with a Shadow

“I’ll follow directly,” he said; and as soon as the room was cleared, he turned to the old doctor.

“You tasted that tea,” he said sharply.

“Yes; strongly flavoured with chloral,” he said.

“Chloral? How could that have got into the tea? And the girl’s fit? Not epilepsy?”

“Hysteria. Rage and disappointment,” said the old doctor. “So it seems to me. There is more beneath the surface than appears. Mr Salis, what can I do to help you?”

“Give me your prayers and ask me nothing,” he replied sadly. “There is more beneath the surface, sir.”

“I will respect your silence,” said the old man, taking his hand. “You are Horace North’s friend, sir, and that is sufficient for me. You are going to town?”

Salis nodded.

“My house is at your disposal,” said the doctor, and he handed Salis his card.

At five o’clock, after due arrangements had been made, Joe Chegg was at the door with a chaise, ready to drive Salis over to the station at King’s Hampton; but, long before that, Dally had begged Mrs Milt to “fetch Miss Mary,” to whom the half-wild, sobbing girl had made a clean breast, of all she knew, and this had been communicated to the curate.

“I need not fear leaving North – I mean on my sister’s behalf?” said Salis, as he stood by the chaise.

“Trust to me, my dear sir, and go without fear.”

Salis climbed into the chaise, and, with his head bent, was driven off through the chilly morning air in search of the fugitive who had nine hours’ start; and as he recalled this he muttered: “I am too late!”

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Four.

Out of the Shadow

Hartley Salis found that his words were correct.

He was too late!

He learned that “a gentleman,” as the people at the hotel called him, had been staying at the hotel, that a lady, evidently Leo, had come in by the early train, and that they had gone.

“Heaven only knows where, Mary, dear,” said Salis a week later, as he lay upon the couch, utterly worn out with his efforts to trace the fugitives. “I am broken down. Thank God, dear, I am once more at home. And you?”

“My dearest brother,” she said tenderly, as she knelt beside him and laid her hand upon his burning brow.

“Ah, that’s cool and pleasant,” he sighed, with his eyes closed. “Tell me about North – more than your letters said.”

“He is better – much better,” said Mary, with an eagerness she made no attempt to conceal.

“Yes,” said Salis wearily; “so Mr Delton said.”

“Yes; so Mr Delton said, and he also said, my dear sir, that you too must have rest; your sister, recovering from her own illness, cannot afford to have two invalids on her hands.”

Salis looked up, and held out his hand to the old doctor, who had uttered the words softly, as doctors do: “You have hardly had a good night’s rest since you left.”

“I have not been to bed,” said Salis simply. “There, I will try and sleep now.”

The doctor made Mary a sign, and she drew back as Salis closed his eyes, and the breakfast which had been prepared as he drove in that morning from King’s Hampton after travelling all night remained untasted.

That was at seven o’clock, and it was seven at night when he awoke to look sharply round, and see Mary at the head of the couch.

“I – where am – ? Have I been asleep?”

“Yes,” said Mary softly.

“Hah!” he ejaculated, springing up. “I have done all I could, Mary,” he said almost appealingly. “I think they are married. It’s a proud thing for us, dear, to have a lady of title for sister,” he added bitterly, as he took Mary to his heart, and she felt it throbbing with his emotion.

“There,” he said, after a few minutes’ struggle, “now for other duties. I still have you.”

The pressure of Mary’s hand spoke more than words, and the poor fellow sat at last, feeling that, after all, there were great compensations in life.

The sight of a well-dressed visitor coming up to the house interrupted their quiet communion, just as they had felt that no more could be done respecting Leo, after Salis had been placed au courant with the state of affairs at the Rectory. Among others that Dally had been to and fro several times to see her grandfather, but had settled down to her work as of old.

In fact that young lady entered the room directly after the ringing of the gate bell, to state that Mrs Berens was in the drawing-room, and wanted to see master “partickler.”

“I will see her for you, Hartley,” said Mary.

“No,” replied Salis firmly; “I want work to keep my brain quiet, or I shall be ill. Show her in here, Dally.”

“No, no, I will fetch her,” said Mary, smiling at her brother’s want of etiquette.

She left the room to return directly.

“Come and see her, Hartley,” she said. “Poor woman, she is in sad trouble.”

“Hah! I am glad,” cried Salis. “Something to think about. The best medicine for me.”

“Oh, Mr Salis, what shall I do? What you have so often said!” sobbed Mrs Berens, as he entered the room, and she clung to his extended hand.

“What I have so often said?”

“Yes; about riches. I’m a poor, helpless woman now. All gone – all gone!”

It was a long story about how she had allowed herself to be influenced by Cousin Thompson, whom she had permitted to make investment after investment till he seemed to have got the whole of the widow’s money into his hands.

“And all went so well till that day when I offended him, dear Mr Salis. Since then I have had nothing but bad news about my property, and now I can get no answers from him at all.”

“A scoundrel!” cried Salis; “but what day do you mean?”

“That day when – must I tell you everything?”

“If you wish for my help,” said Salis sharply.

“I do, Mr Salis; but pray don’t speak angrily to me. I am so broken and unhappy now.”