BOOK THE LAST.
CHAPTER I.
AT THE TERMINUS.
On the night of the 2d of December, Mr. Bashwood took up his post
of observation at the terminus of the South-eastern Railway for
the first time. It was an earlier date, by six days, than the
date which Allan had himself fixed for his return. But the
doctor, taking counsel of his medical experience, had considered
it just probable that "Mr. Armadale might be perverse enough,
at his enviable age, to recover sooner than his medical advisers
might have anticipated." For caution's sake, therefore, Mr.
Bashwood was instructed to begin watching the arrival of the
tidal trains on the day after he had received his employer's
letter.
From the 2d to the 7th of December, the steward waited punctually
on the platform, saw the trains come in, and satisfied himself,
evening after evening, that the travelers were all strangers to
him. From the 2d to the 7th of December, Miss Gwilt (to return to
the name under which she is best known in these pages) received
his daily report, sometimes delivered personally, sometimes sent
by letter. The doctor, to whom the reports were communicated,
received them in his turn with unabated confidence in the
precautions that had been adopted up to the morning of the 8th.
On that date the irritation of continued suspense had produced a
change for the worse in Miss Gwilt's variable temper, which was
perceptible to every one about her, and which, strangely enough,
was reflected by an equally marked change in the doctor's
manner when he came to pay his usual visit. By a coincidence
so extraordinary that his enemies might have suspected it of not
being a coincidence at all, the morning on which Miss Gwilt lost
her patience proved to be also the morning on which the doctor
lost his confidence for the first time.
"No news, of course," he said, sitting down with a heavy sigh.
"Well! well!"
Miss Gwilt looked up at him irritably from her work.
"You seem strangely depressed this morning," she said. "What are
you afraid of now?"
"The imputation of being afraid, madam," answered the doctor,
solemnly, "is not an imputation to cast rashly on any man--even
when he belongs to such an essentially peaceful profession as
mine. I am not afraid. I am (as you more correctly put it in
the first instance) strangely depressed. My nature is, as you
know, naturally sanguine, and I only see to-day what but for
my habitual hopefulness I might have seen, and ought to have
seen, a week since."
Miss Gwilt impatiently threw down her work. "If words cost
money," she said, "the luxury of talking would be rather an
expensive luxury in your case!"
"Which I might have seen, and ought to have seen," reiterated the
doctor, without taking the slightest notice of the interruption,
"a week since. To put it plainly, I feel by no means so certain
as I did that Mr. Armadale will consent, without a struggle, to
the terms which it is my interest (and in a minor degree yours)
to impose on him. Observe! I don't question our entrapping him
successfully into the Sanitarium: I only doubt whether he will
prove quite as manageable as I originally anticipated when we
have got him there. Say," remarked the doctor, raising his eyes
for the first time, and fixing them in steady inquiry on Miss
Gwilt--"say that he is bold, obstinate, what you please; and that
he holds out--holds out for weeks together, for months together,
as men in similar situations to his have held out before him.
What follows? The risk of keeping him forcibly in concealment--of
suppressing him, if I may so express myself--increases at
compound interest, and becomes Enormous! My house is at this
moment virtually ready for patients. Patients may present
themselves in a week's time. Patients may communicate with Mr.
Armadale, or Mr. Armadale may communicate with patients. A note
may be smuggled out of the house, and may reach the Commissioners
in Lunacy. Even in the case of an unlicensed establishment like
mine, those gentlemen--no! those chartered despots in a land of
liberty--have only to apply to the Lord Chancellor for an order,
and to enter (by heavens, to enter My Sanitarium!) and search the
house from top to bottom at a moment's notice! I don't wish to
despond; I don't wish to alarm you; I don't pretend to say that
the means we are taking to secure your own safety are any other
than the best means at our disposal. All I ask you to do is to
imagine the Commissioners in the house--and then to conceive the
consequences. The consequences!" repeated the doctor, getting
sternly on his feet, and taking up his hat as if he meant to
leave the room.
"Have you anything more to say?" asked Miss Gwilt.
"Have you any remarks," rejoined the doctor, "to offer on your
side?"
He stood, hat in hand, waiting. For a full minute the two looked
at each other in silence.
Miss Gwilt spoke first.
"I think I understand you," she said, suddenly recovering her
composure.
"I beg your pardon," returned the doctor, with his hand to
his ear. "What did you say?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"If you happened to catch another fly this morning," said Miss
Gwilt, with a bitterly sarcastic emphasis on the words, "I might
be capable of shocking you by another 'little joke.'"
The doctor held up both hands, in polite deprecation, and looked
as if he was beginning to recover his good humor again.
"Hard," he murmured, gently, "not to have forgiven me that
unlucky blunder of mine, even yet!"
"What else have you to say? I am waiting for you," said Miss
Gwilt. She turned her chair to the window scornfully, and took up
her work again, as she spoke.
The doctor came behind her, and put his hand on the back of
her chair.
"I have a question to ask, in the first place," he said; "and
a measure of necessary precaution to suggest, in the second. If
you will honor me with your attention, I will put the question
first."
"I am listening."
"You know that Mr. Armadale is alive," pursued the doctor, "and
you know that he is coming back to England. Why do you continue
to wear your widow's dress?"
She answered him without an instant's hesitation, steadily going
on with her work.
"Because I am of a sanguine disposition, like you. I mean to
trust to the chapter of accidents to the very last. Mr. Armadale
may die yet, on his way home."
"And suppose he gets home alive--what then?"
"Then there is another chance still left."
"What is it, pray?"
"He may die in your Sanitarium."
"Madam!" remonstrated the doctor, in the deep bass which he
reserved for his outbursts of virtuous indignation. "Wait! you
spoke of the chapter of accidents," he resumed, gliding back
into his softer conversational tones. "Yes! yes! of course.
I understand you this time. Even the healing art is at the mercy
of accidents; even such a Sanitarium as mine is liable to be
surprised by Death. Just so! just so!" said the doctor, conceding
the question with the utmost impartiality. "There _is_ the
chapter of accidents, I admit--if you choose to trust to it.
Mind! I say emphatically, _if_ you choose to trust to it."
There was another moment of silence--silence so profound that
nothing was audible in the room but the rapid _click_ of Miss
Gwilt's needle through her work.
"Go on," she said; "you haven't done yet."
"True!" said the doctor. "Having put my question, I have my
measure of precaution to impress on you next. You will see,
my dear madam, that I am not disposed to trust to the chapter
of accidents on my side. Reflection has convinced me that you
and I are not (logically speaking) so conveniently situated
as we might be in case of emergency. Cabs are, as yet, rare in
this rapidly improving neighborhood. I am twenty minutes' walk
from you; you are twenty minutes' walk from me. I know nothing
of Mr. Armadale's character; you know it well. It might be
necessary--vitally necessary--to appeal to your superior
knowledge of him at a moment's notice. And how am I to do that
unless we are within easy reach of each other, under the same
roof? In both our interests, I beg to invite you, my dear madam,
to become for a limited period an inmate of My Sanitarium."
Miss Gwilt's rapid needle suddenly stopped. "I understand you,"
she said again, as quietly as before.
"I beg your pardon," said the doctor, with another attack
of deafness, and with his hand once more at his ear.
She laughed to herself--a low, terrible laugh, which startled
even the doctor into taking his hand off the back of her chair.
"An inmate of your Sanitarium?" she repeated. "You consult
appearances in everything else; do you propose to consult
appearances in receiving me into your house?"
"Most assuredly!" replied the doctor, with enthusiasm. "I am
surprised at your asking me the question! Did you ever know
a man of any eminence in my profession who set appearances
at defiance? If you honor me by accepting my invitation, you
enter My Sanitarium in the most unimpeachable of all possible
characters--in the character of a Patient."
"When do you want my answer?"
"Can you decide to-day?"
"To-morrow?"
"Yes. Have you anything more to say?"
"Nothing more."
"Leave me, then. _I_ don't keep up appearances. I wish to be
alone, and I say so. Good-morning."
"Oh, the sex! the sex!" said the doctor, with his excellent
temper in perfect working order again. "So delightfully
impulsive! so charmingly reckless of what they say or how they
say it! 'Oh, woman, in our hours of ease, uncertain, coy, and
hard to please!' There! there! there! Good-morning!"
Miss Gwilt rose and looked after him contemptuously from
the window, when the street door had closed, and he had left
the house.
"Armadale himself drove me to it the first time," she said.
"Manuel drove me to it the second time.--You cowardly scoundrel!
shall I let _you_ drive me to it for the third time, and the
last?"
She turned from the window, and looked thoughtfully at her
widow's dress in the glass.
The hours of the day passed--and she decided nothing. The night
came--and she hesitated still. The new morning dawned--and the
terrible question was still unanswered.
By the early post there came a letter for her. It was Mr.
Bashwood's usual report. Again he had watched for Allan's
arrival, and again in vain.
"I'll have more time!" she determined, passionately. "No man
alive shall hurry me faster than I like!"
At breakfast that morning (the morning of the 9th) the doctor
was surprised in his study by a visit from Miss Gwilt.
"I want another day," she said, the moment the servant had closed
the door on her.
The doctor looked at her before he answered, and saw the danger
of driving her to extremities plainly expressed in her face.
"The time is getting on," he remonstrated, in his most persuasive
manner. "For all we know to the contrary, Mr. Armadale may be
here to-night."
"I want another day!" she repeated, loudly and passionately.
"Granted!" said the doctor, looking nervously toward the door.
"Don't be too loud--the servants may hear you. Mind!" he added,
"I depend on your honor not to press me for any further delay."
"You had better depend on my despair," she said, and left him.
The doctor chipped the shell of his egg, and laughed softly.
"Quite right, my dear!" he thought. "I remember where your
despair led you in past times; and I think I may trust it
to lead you the same way now."
At a quarter to eight o'clock that night Mr. Bashwood took up his
post of observation, as usual, on the platform of the terminus at
London Bridge. He was in the highest good spirits; he smiled and
smirked in irrepressible exultation. The sense that he held in
reserve a means of influence over Miss Gwilt, in virtue of his
knowledge of her past career, had had no share in effecting
the transformation that now appeared in him. It had upheld his
courage in his forlorn life at Thorpe Ambrose, and it had given
him that increased confidence of manner which Miss Gwilt herself
had noticed; but, from the moment when he had regained his old
place in her favor, it had vanished as a motive power in him,
annihilated by the electric shock of her touch and her look.
His vanity--the vanity which in men at his age is only despair
in disguise--had now lifted him to the seventh heaven of fatuous
happiness once more. He believed in her again as he believed in
the smart new winter overcoat that he wore--as he believed in
the dainty little cane (appropriate to the dawning dandyism of
lads in their teens) that he flourished in his hand. He hummed!
The worn-out old creature, who had not sung since his childhood,
hummed, as he paced the platform, the few fragments he could
remember of a worn-out old song.
The train was due as early as eight o'clock that night. At five
minutes past the hour the whistle sounded. In less than five
minutes more the passengers were getting out on the platform.
Following the instructions that had been given to him, Mr.
Bashwood made his way, as well as the crowd would let him, along
the line of carriages, and, discovering no familiar face on that
first investigation, joined the passengers for a second search
among them in the custom-house waiting-room next.
He had looked round the room, and had satisfied himself that the
persons occupying it were all strangers, when he heard a voice
behind him, exclaiming: "Can that be Mr. Bashwood!" He turned in
eager expectation, and found himself face to face with the last
man under heaven whom he had expected to see.
The man was MIDWINTER.