Part 93 (1/2)
”I suppose to obtain a delay; and meantime get you into an asylum, where they will tell the Commissioners you are worse again, and perhaps do something to make their words good. Dr. Wolf, between ourselves, will say or do almost anything for money. And his asylum is conducted on the old system; though he pretends not.”
”My dear friend,” said Alfred, ”will you do me a favour?”
”How could I deny you anything at this sorrowful moment?”
”Here is an advertis.e.m.e.nt I want inserted in the _Morning Advertiser._”
”Oh, I can't do that, I fear.”
”Look at it before you break my heart by refusing me.”
Dr. Wycherley looked at it, and said it was innocent, being unintelligible: and he would insert it himself.
”Three insertions, dear doctor,” said Alfred. ”Here is the money.
The doctor then told him sorrowfully he must pack up his things--Dr.
Wolf's keepers were waiting for him.
The moment of parting came. Then Alfred solemnly forgave Dr. Wycherley for signing away his wits, and thanked him for all his kindness and humanity. ”We shall never meet again, I fear,” said he; ”I feel a weight of foreboding here about my heart I never felt before; yet my trials have been many and great. I think the end is at hand.” Dr. Wolf's keepers received him, and their first act was to handcuff him. The cold steel struck into him deeper than his wrist, and reminded him of Silverton Grove; he could not suppress a shudder. The carriage rolled all through London with him. He saw the Parks with autumn's brown and golden tints: he saw the people, some rich, some poor, but none of them prisoners. He saw a little girl all rags. ”Oh if I could be as ragged as you are,” he said, ”and free.”
At last they reached Drayton House--a huge old mansion, fortified into a jail. His handcuffs were whipped off in the yard. He was ushered into a large gloomy drawing-room. Dr. Wolf soon came to him, and they measured each other by the eye like two prize-fighters. Dr. Wolf's eye fell under Alfred's, and the latter felt he was capable of much foul play. He was one of the old bull-necked breed: and contained the bull-dog and the spaniel in his single nature. ”I hope you will be comfortable here, sir,” said he doggedly.
”I will try, sir.”
”The first-cla.s.s patients dine in half an hour.”
”I will be ready, sir.”
”Full dress in the evening; there are several ladies.” Alfred a.s.sented by a bow. Dr. Wolf rang a bell, and told a servant to show Mr. Hardie his room.
He had just time to make his toilet when the bell rang for dinner.
As he went down a nurse met him, held up something white to him as she came, lowered it quickly, and dropped it at his feet in pa.s.sing.
It was a billet-doux.
It was twisted into a pretty shape, scented and addressed to Mr. Hardie, in a delicate Italian hand, and in that pale ink which seems to reflect the charming timidity of the fair who use it.
He wondered; carried it into a recess; then opened it and read it. It contained but this one line--
_”Drink nothing but water at dinner._”
These words in that delicate Italian hand sent a chill through Alfred.
What on earth was all this? Was he to be poisoned? Was his life aimed at now instead of his reason? What was this mysterious drama prepared for him the very moment he set his foot in the place, perhaps before? A poisoner, and a friend! Both strangers. He went down to dinner: and contrived to examine every lady and gentleman at the table. But they were all strangers. Presently a servant filled his gla.s.s with beer; he looked and saw it was poured from a small jug holding only his portion.
Alfred took his ring off his finger, and holding the gla.s.s up dropped his ring in.
”What is that for?” inquired one or two.
”Oh, my ring has a peculiar virtue, it tells me what is good for me. Ah!