Mr. Trelawny, the keen observer of men, seemed to read my thought; his
face, which was set in a new anxiety, relaxed as he said:

“Sit down a minute; it is better that we speak now than later. We are
both men, and men of the world. All this about my daughter is very new
to me, and very sudden; and I want to know exactly how and where I
stand. Mind, I am making no objection; but as a father I have duties
which are grave, and may prove to be painful. I—I”—he seemed
slightly at a loss how to begin, and this gave me hope—“I suppose I am
to take it, from what you have said to me of your feelings towards my
girl, that it is in your mind to be a suitor for her hand, later on?”
I answered at once:

“Absolutely! Firm and fixed; it was my intention the evening after I
had been with her on the river, to seek you, of course after a proper
and respectful interval, and to ask you if I might approach her on the
subject. Events forced me into closer relationship more quickly than I
had to hope would be possible; but that first purpose has remained
fresh in my heart, and has grown in intensity, and multiplied itself
with every hour which has passed since then.”  His face seemed to
soften as he looked at me; the memory of his own youth was coming back
to him instinctively. After a pause he said:

“I suppose I may take it, too, Malcolm Ross”—the return to the
familiarity of address swept through me with a glorious thrill—“that
as yet you have not made any protestation to my daughter?”

“Not in words, sir.”  The arriere pensee of my phrase struck me, not by
its own humour, but through the grave, kindly smile on the father’s
face. There was a pleasant sarcasm in his comment:

“Not in words! That is dangerous! She might have doubted words, or
even disbelieved them.”

I felt myself blushing to the roots of my hair as I went on:

“The duty of delicacy in her defenceless position; my respect for her
father—I did not know you then, sir, as yourself, but only as her
father—restrained me. But even had not these barriers existed, I
should not have dared in the presence of such grief and anxiety to have
declared myself. Mr. Trelawny, I assure you on my word of honour that
your daughter and I are as yet, on her part, but friends and nothing
more!”  Once again he held out his hands, and we clasped each other
warmly. Then he said heartily:

“I am satisfied, Malcolm Ross. Of course, I take it that until I have
seen her and have given you permission, you will not make any
declaration to my daughter—in words,” he added, with an indulgent
smile. But his face became stern again as he went on:

“Time presses; and I have to think of some matters so urgent and so
strange that I dare not lose an hour. Otherwise I should not have been
prepared to enter, at so short a notice and to so new a friend, on the
subject of my daughter’s settlement in life, and of her future
happiness.”  There was a dignity and a certain proudness in his manner
which impressed me much. “I shall respect your wishes, sir!” I said as I went back and opened
the door. I heard him lock it behind me. When I told Mr. Corbeck that Mr. Trelawny had quite recovered, he began
to dance about like a wild man. But he suddenly stopped, and asked me
to be careful not to draw any inferences, at all events at first, when
in the future speaking of the finding of the lamps, or of the first
visits to the tomb. This was in case Mr. Trelawny should speak to me
on the subject; “as, of course, he will,” he added, with a sidelong
look at me which meant knowledge of the affairs of my heart. I agreed
to this, feeling that it was quite right. I did not quite understand
why; but I knew that Mr. Trelawny was a peculiar man. In no case could
one make a mistake by being reticent. Reticence is a quality which a
strong man always respects. The manner in which the others of the house took the news of the
recovery varied much. Mrs. Grant wept with emotion; then she hurried
off to see if she could do anything personally, and to set the house in
order for “Master”, as she always called him. The Nurse’s face fell:
she was deprived of an interesting case. But the disappointment was
only momentary; and she rejoiced that the trouble was over. She was
ready to come to the patient the moment she should be wanted; but in
the meantime she occupied herself in packing her portmanteau. I took Sergeant Daw into the study, so that we should be alone when I
told him the news. It surprised even his iron self-control when I told
him the method of the waking. I was myself surprised in turn by his
first words:

“And how did he explain the first attack? He was unconscious when the
second was made.”

Up to that moment the nature of the attack, which was the cause of my
coming to the house, had never even crossed my mind, except when I had
simply narrated the various occurrences in sequence to Mr. Trelawny. The Detective did not seem to think much of my answer:

“Do you know, it never occurred to me to ask him!”  The professional
instinct was strong in the man, and seemed to supersede everything else. “That is why so few cases are ever followed out,” he said, “unless our
people are in them. Your amateur detective never hunts down to the
death. As for ordinary people, the moment things begin to mend, and
the strain of suspense is off them, they drop the matter in hand. It
is like sea-sickness,” he added philosophically after a pause; “the
moment you touch the shore you never give it a thought, but run off to
the buffet to feed! Well, Mr. Ross, I’m glad the case is over; for
over it is, so far as I am concerned. I suppose that Mr. Trelawny
knows his own business; and that now he is well again, he will take it
up himself. Perhaps, however, he will not do anything. As he seemed to
expect something to happen, but did not ask for protection from the
police in any way, I take it that he don’t want them to interfere with
an eye to punishment. We’ll be told officially, I suppose, that it was
an accident, or sleep-walking, or something of the kind, to satisfy the
conscience of our Record Department; and that will be the end. As for
me, I tell you frankly, sir, that it will be the saving of me. I
verily believe I was beginning to get dotty over it all. There were
too many mysteries, that aren’t in my line, for me to be really
satisfied as to either facts or the causes of them. Now I’ll be able
to wash my hands of it, and get back to clean, wholesome, criminal
work. Of course, sir, I’ll be glad to know if you ever do light on a
cause of any kind. And I’ll be grateful if you can ever tell me how
the man was dragged out of bed when the cat bit him, and who used the
knife the second time. For master Silvio could never have done it by
himself. But there! I keep thinking of it still. I must look out and
keep a check on myself, or I shall think of it when I have to keep my
mind on other things!”

When Margaret returned from her walk, I met her in the hall.