John showed no surprise at the boy being
with us; indeed I never thought it necessary to explain that I had
originally purposed to leave him behind. Our journey, though necessarily prolonged by the shortness of its
stages, was safely accomplished. John bore it as well as I could have
hoped, and though his body showed no signs of increased vigour, his
mind, I think, improved in tone, at any rate for a time. From the
evening on which he had shown me the terrible discovery in the Via
del Giardino he seemed to have laid aside something of his care and
depression. He now exhibited little trace of the moroseness and
selfishness which had of late so marred his character; and though he
naturally felt severely at times the fatigue of travel, yet we had no
longer to dread any relapse into that state of lethargy or stupor which
had so often baffled every effort to counteract it at Posilipo. Some
feeling of superstitious aversion had prompted me to give orders that
the Stradivarius violin should be left behind at Posilipo. But before
parting my brother asked for it, and insisted that it should be brought
with him, though I had never heard him play a note on it for many weeks. He took an interest in all the petty episodes of travel, and certainly
appeared to derive more entertainment from the journey than was to have
been anticipated in his feeble state of health. To the incidents of the evening spent in the Via del Giardino he made no
allusion of any kind, nor did I for my part wish to renew memories of
so unpleasant a nature. His only reference occurred one Sunday evening
as we were passing a small graveyard near Genoa. The scene apparently
turned his thoughts to that subject, and he told me that he had taken
measures before leaving Naples to ensure that the remains of Adrian
Temple should be decently interred in the cemetery of Santa Bibiana. His words set me thinking again, and unsatisfied curiosity prompted
me strongly to inquire of him how he had convinced himself that the
skeleton at the foot of the stairs was indeed that of Adrian Temple. But
I restrained myself, partly from a reliance on his promise that he would
one day explain the whole story to me, and partly being very reluctant
to mar the enjoyment of the peaceful scenes through which we were
passing, by the introduction of any subjects so jarring and painful as
those to which I have alluded. We reached London at last, and here we stopped a few days to make some
necessary arrangements before going down to Worth Maltravers. I had
urged upon John during the journey that immediately on his arrival in
London he should obtain the best English medical advice as to his own
health. Though he at first demurred, saying that nothing more was to be
done, and that he was perfectly satisfied with the medicine given him by
Dr. Baravelli, which he continued to take, yet by constant entreaty I
prevailed upon him to accede to so reasonable a request. Dr. Frobisher,
considered at that time the first living authority on diseases of the
brain and nerves, saw him on the morning after our arrival. He was good
enough to speak with me at some length after seeing my brother, and to
give me many hints and recipes whereby I might be better enabled to
nurse the invalid. Sir John's condition, he said, was such as to excite serious anxiety. There was, indeed, no brain mischief of any kind to be discovered, but
his lungs were in a state of advanced disease, and there were signs of
grave heart affection. Yet he did not bid me to despair, but said that
with careful nursing life might certainly be prolonged, and even some
measure of health in time restored. He asked me more than once if I knew
of any trouble or worry that preyed upon Sir John's mind. Were there
financial difficulties; had he been subjected to any mental shock; had
he received any severe fright? To all this I could only reply in the
negative. At the same time I told Dr. Frobisher as much of John's
history as I considered pertinent to the question. He shook his head
gravely, and recommended that Sir John should remain for the present in
London, under his own constant supervision. To this course my brother
would by no means consent. He was eager to proceed at once to his own
house, saying that if necessary we could return again to London for
Christmas. It was therefore agreed that we should go down to Worth
Maltravers at the end of the week. Parnham had already left us for Worth in order that he might have
everything ready against his master's return, and when we arrived we
found all in perfect order for our reception. A small morning-room next
to the library, with a pleasant south aspect and opening on to the
terrace, had been prepared for my brother's use, so that he might avoid
the fatigue of mounting stairs, which Dr. Frobisher considered very
prejudicial in his present condition. We had also purchased in London a
chair fitted with wheels, which enabled him to be moved, or, if he were
feeling equal to the exertion, to move himself, without difficulty, from
room to room. His health, I think, improved; very gradually, it is true, but still
sufficiently to inspire me with hope that he might yet be spared to us. Of the state of his mind or thoughts I knew little, but I could see that
he was at times a prey to nervous anxiety. This showed itself in the
harassed look which his pale face often wore, and in his marked dislike
to being left alone. He derived, I think, a certain pleasure from the
quietude and monotony of his life at Worth, and perhaps also from the
consciousness that he had about him loving and devoted hearts. I say
hearts, for every servant at Worth was attached to him, remembering the
great consideration and courtesy of his earlier years, and grieving to
see his youthful and once vigorous frame reduced to so sad a strait. Books he never read himself, and even the charm of Raffaelle's reading
seemed to have lost its power; though he never tired of hearing the boy
sing, and liked to have him sit by his chair even when his eyes were
shut and he was apparently asleep. His general health seemed to me to
change but little either for better or worse. Dr. Frobisher had led me
to expect some such a sequel. I had not concealed from him that I had
at times entertained suspicions as to my brother's sanity; but he had
assured me that they were totally unfounded, that Sir John's brain was
as clear as his own. At the same time he confessed that he could not
account for the exhausted vitality of his patient,--a condition which he
would under ordinary circumstances have attributed to excessive study or
severe trouble. He had urged upon me the pressing necessity for complete
rest, and for much sleep. My brother never even incidentally referred to
his wife, his child, or to Mrs. Temple, who constantly wrote to me from
Royston, sending kind messages to John, and asking how he did.