She told me only that she had flung
herself in an agony of tears at his feet, and kneeling there, weary and
broken-hearted, had begged him to tell her if she had done aught amiss,
had prayed him to give her back his love. To all this he answered
little, but her entreaties had at least such an effect as to induce him
to take his dinner with us that evening. At that meal we tried to put
aside our gloom, and with feigned smiles and cheerful voices, from which
the tears were hardly banished, sustained a weary show of conversation
and tried to wile away his evil mood. But he spoke little; and when
Foster, my father's butler, put on the table the three-handled
Maltravers' loving-cup that he had brought up Christmas by Christmas for
thirty years, my brother merely passed it by without a taste. I saw by
Foster's face that the master's malady was no longer a secret even from
the servants. I shall not harass my own feelings nor yours, my dear Edward, by
entering into further details of your father's illness, for such it was
obvious his indisposition had become. It was the only consolation, and
that was a sorry one, that we could use with Constance, to persuade her
that John's estrangement from her was merely the result or manifestation
of some physical infirmity. He obviously grew worse from week to week,
and his treatment of his wife became colder and more callous. We had
used all efforts to persuade him to take a change of air--to go to
Royston for a month, and place himself under the care of Dr. Dobie. Mrs.
Temple had even gone so far as to write privately to this physician,
telling him as much of the case as was prudent, and asking his advice. Not being aware of the darker sides of my brother's ailment, Dr. Dobie
replied in a less serious strain than seemed to us convenient, but
recommended in any case a complete change of air and scene. It was, therefore, with no ordinary pleasure and relief that we
heard my brother announce quite unexpectedly one morning in March that
he had made up his mind to seek change, and was going to leave almost
immediately for the Continent. He took his valet Parnham with him, and
quitted Worth one morning before lunch, bidding us an unceremonious
adieu, though he kissed Constance with some apparent tenderness. It was
the first time for three months, she confessed to me afterwards, that
he had shown her even so ordinary a mark of affection; and her wounded
heart treasured up what she hoped would prove a token of returning love. He had not proposed to take her with him, and even had he done so, we
should have been reluctant to assent, as signs were not wanting that it
might have been imprudent for her to undertake foreign travel at that
period. For nearly a month we had no word of him. Then he wrote a short note to
Constance from Naples, giving no news, and indeed, scarce speaking of
himself at all, but mentioning as an address to which she might write if
she wished, the Villa de Angelis at Posilipo. Though his letter was cold
and empty, yet Constance was delighted to get it, and wrote henceforth
herself nearly every day, pouring out her heart to him, and retailing
such news as she thought would cheer him. CHAPTER XI


A month later Mrs. Temple wrote to John warning him of the state in
which Constance now found herself, and begging him to return at least
for a few weeks in order that he might be present at the time of her
confinement. Though it would have been in the last degree unkind, or
even inhuman, that a request of this sort should have been refused, yet
I will confess to you that my brother's recent strangeness had prepared
me for behaviour on his part however wild; and it was with a feeling of
extreme relief that I heard from Mrs. Temple a little later that she had
received a short note from John to say that he was already on his return
journey. I believe Mrs. Temple herself felt as I did in the matter,
though she said nothing. When he returned we were all at Royston, whither Mrs. Temple had taken
Constance to be under Dr. Dobie's care. We found John's physical
appearance changed for the worse. His pallor was as remarkable as
before, but he was visibly thinner; and his strange mental abstraction
and moodiness seemed little if any abated. At first, indeed, he greeted
Constance kindly or even affectionately. She had been in a terrible
state of anxiety as to the attitude he would assume towards her, and
this mental strain affected prejudicially her very delicate bodily
condition. His kindness, of an ordinary enough nature indeed, seemed
to her yearning heart a miracle of condescending love, and she was
transported with the idea that his affection to her, once so sincere,
was indeed returning. But I grieve to say that his manner thawed only
for a very short time, and ere long he relapsed into an attitude of
complete indifference. It was as if his real, true, honest, and loving
character had made one more vigorous effort to assert itself,--as
though it had for a moment broken through the hard and selfish crust
that was forming around him; but the blighting influence which was at
work proved seemingly too strong for him to struggle against, and
riveted its chains again upon him with a weight heavier than before. That there was some malefic influence, mental or physical, thus working
on him, no one who had known him before could for a moment doubt. But
while Mrs. Temple and I readily admitted this much, we were entirely
unable even to form a conjecture as to its nature. It is true that
Mrs. Temple's fancy suggested that Constance had some rival in his
affections; but we rejected such a theory almost before it was proposed,
feeling that it was inherently improbable, and that, had it been true,
we could not have remained entirely unaware of the circumstances which
had conduced to such a state of things. It was this inexplicable nature
of my brother's affliction that added immeasurably to our grief. If we
could only have ascertained its cause we might have combated it; but
as it was, we were fighting in the dark, as against some enemy who was
assaulting us from an obscurity so thick that we could not see his form. Of any mental trouble we thus knew nothing, nor could we say that my
brother was suffering from any definite physical ailment, except that
he was certainly growing thinner. Your birth, my dear Edward, followed very shortly. Your poor mother
rallied in an unusually short time, and was filled with rapture at the
new treasure which was thus given as a solace to her afflictions. Your
father exhibited little interest at the event, though he sat nearly half
an hour with her one evening, and allowed her even to stroke his hair
and caress him as in time long past. Although it was now the height of
summer he seldom left the house, sitting much and sleeping in his own
room, where he had a field-bed provided for him, and continually
devoting himself to the violin.