Control your alarm for his sake and your own. It is better that he
should not know you have been awakened." He pressed my hand and spoke a few more reassuring words, and I went
back to my room still much agitated, and yet feeling half ashamed for
having shown so much anxiety with so little reason. That Christmas morning was one of the most beautiful that I ever
remember. It seemed as though summer was so loath to leave our sunny
Dorset coast that she came back on this day to bid us adieu before her
final departure. I had risen early and had partaken of the Sacrament
at our little church. Dr. Butler had recently introduced this early
service, and though any alteration of time-honoured customs in such
matters might not otherwise have met with my approval, I was glad to
avail myself of the privilege on this occasion, as I wished in any case
to spend the later morning with my brother. The singular beauty of the
early hours, and the tranquillising effect of the solemn service brought
back serenity to my mind, and effectually banished from it all memories
of the preceding night. Mr. Gaskell met me in the hall on my return, and
after greeting me kindly with the established compliments of the day,
inquired after my health, and hoped that the disturbance of my slumber
on the previous night had not affected me injuriously. He had good news
for me: John seemed decidedly better, was already dressed, and desired,
as it was Christmas morning, that we would take our breakfast with him
in his room. To this, as you may imagine, I readily assented. Our breakfast party
passed off with much content, and even with some quiet humour, John
sitting in his easy-chair at the head of the table and wishing us the
compliments of the season. I found laid in my place a letter from Mrs.
Temple greeting us all (for she knew Mr. Gaskell was at Worth), and
saying that she hoped to bring little Edward to us at the New Year. My brother seemed much pleased at the prospect of seeing his son, and
though perhaps it was only imagination, I fancied he was particularly
gratified that Mrs. Temple herself was to pay us a visit. She had not
been to Worth since the death of Lady Maltravers. Before we had finished breakfast the sun beat on the panes with an
unusual strength and brightness. His rays cheered us all, and it was so
warm that John first opened the windows, and then wheeled his chair on
to the walk outside. Mr. Gaskell brought him a hat and mufflers, and we
sat with him on the terrace basking in the sun. The sea was still and
glassy as a mirror, and the Channel lay stretched before us like a floor
of moving gold. A rose or two still hung against the house, and the
sun's rays reflected from the red sandstone gave us a December morning
more mild and genial than many June days that I have known in the north. We sat for some minutes without speaking, immersed in our own
reflections and in the exquisite beauty of the scene. The stillness was broken by the bells of the parish church ringing for
the morning service. There were two of them, and their sound, familiar
to us from childhood, seemed like the voices of old friends. John looked
at me and said with a sigh, "I should like to go to church. It is long
since I was there. You and I have always been on Christmas mornings,
Sophy, and Constance would have wished it had she been with us." His words, so unexpected and tender, filled my eyes with tears; not
tears of grief, but of deep thankfulness to see my loved one turning
once more to the old ways. It was the first time I had heard him speak
of Constance, and that sweet name, with the infinite pathos of her
death, and of the spectacle of my brother's weakness, so overcame me
that I could not speak. I only pressed his hand and nodded. Mr. Gaskell,
who had turned away for a minute, said he thought John would take no
harm in attending the morning service provided the church were warm. On this point I could reassure him, having found it properly heated
even in the early morning. Mr. Gaskell was to push John's chair, and I ran off to put on my cloak,
with my heart full of profound thankfulness for the signs of returning
grace so mercifully vouchsafed to our dear sufferer on this happy day. I was ready dressed and had just entered the library when Mr. Gaskell
stepped hurriedly through the window from the terrace. "John has
fainted!" he said. "Run for some smelling salts and call Parnham!" There was a scene of hurried alarm, giving place ere long to terrified
despair. Parnham mounted a horse and set off at a wild gallop to Swanage
to fetch Dr. Bruton; but an hour before he returned we knew the worst. My brother was beyond the aid of the physician: his wrecked life had
reached a sudden term! *       *       *       *       *

I have now, dear Edward, completed the brief narrative of some of the
facts attending the latter years of your father's life. The motive which
has induced me to commit them to writing has been a double one. I am
anxious to give effect as far as may be to the desire expressed most
strongly to Mr. Gaskell by your father, that you should be put in
possession of these facts on your coming of age. And for my own part I
think it better that you should thus hear the plain truth from me, lest
you should be at the mercy of haphazard reports, which might at any time
reach you from ignorant or interested sources. Some of the circumstances
were so remarkable that it is scarcely possible to suppose that they
were not known, and most probably frequently discussed, in so large an
establishment as that of Worth Maltravers. I even have reason to believe
that exaggerated and absurd stories were current at the time of Sir
John's death, and I should be grieved to think that such foolish tales
might by any chance reach your ear without your having any sure means of
discovering where the truth lay. God knows how grievous it has been to
me to set down on paper some of the facts that I have here narrated. You
as a dutiful son will reverence the name even of a father whom you never
knew; but you must remember that his sister did more; she loved him with
a single-hearted devotion, and it still grieves her to the quick to
write anything which may seem to detract from his memory. Only, above
all things, let us speak the truth. Much of what I have told you needs,
I feel, further explanation, but this I cannot give, for I do not
understand the circumstances. Mr. Gaskell, your guardian, will, I
believe, add to this account a few notes of his own, which may tend to
elucidate some points, as he is in possession of certain facts of which
I am still ignorant. MR. GASKELL'S NOTE


I have read what Miss Maltravers has written, and have but little to add
to it. I can give no explanation that will tally with all the facts or
meet all the difficulties involved in her narrative. The most obvious
solution of some points would be, of course, to suppose that Sir John
Maltravers was insane.