Armadale

'Because I am of a sanguine disposition, like you. I mean to trust to the chapter of accidents to the very last. Mr. Armadale may die yet, on his way home.'

'And suppose he gets home alive—what then?'

'Then there is another chance still left.'

'What is it, pray?'

'He may die in your Sanitarium.'

'Madam!' remonstrated the doctor, in the deep bass which he reserved for his outbursts of virtuous indignation. 'Wait! you spoke of the chapter of accidents,' he resumed, gliding back into his softer conversational tones. 'Yes! yes! of course. I understand you this time. Even the healing art is at the mercy of accidents; even such a Sanitarium as mine is liable to be surprised by Death. Just so! just so!' said the doctor, conceding the question with the utmost impartiality. 'There is the chapter of accidents, I admit—if you choose to trust to it. Mind! I say emphatically, if you choose to trust to it.'

There was another moment of silence—silence so profound that nothing was audible in the room but the rapid click of Miss Gwilt's needle through her work.

'Go on,' she said; 'you haven't done yet.'

'True!' said the doctor. 'Having put my question, I have my measure of precaution to impress on you next. You will see, my dear madam, that I am not disposed to trust to the chapter of accidents on my side. Reflection has convinced me that you and I are not (logically speaking) so conveniently situated as we might be in case of emergency. Cabs are, as yet, rare in this rapidly improving neighborhood. I am twenty minutes' walk from you; you are twenty minutes' walk from me. I know nothing of Mr. Armadale's character; you know it well. It might be necessary—vitally necessary—to appeal to your superior knowledge of him at a moment's notice. And how am I to do that unless we are within easy reach of each other, under the same roof? In both our interests, I beg to invite you, my dear madam, to become for a limited period an inmate of My Sanitarium.'

Miss Gwilt's rapid needle suddenly stopped. 'I understand you,' she said again, as quietly as before.

'I beg your pardon,' said the doctor, with another attack of deafness, and with his hand once more at his ear.

She laughed to herself—a low, terrible laugh, which startled even the doctor into taking his hand off the back of her chair.

'An inmate of your Sanitarium?' she repeated. 'You consult appearances in everything else; do you propose to consult appearances in receiving me into your house?'

'Most assuredly!' replied the doctor, with enthusiasm. 'I am surprised at your asking me the question! Did you ever know a man of any eminence in my profession who set appearances at defiance? If you honor me by accepting my invitation, you enter My Sanitarium in the most unimpeachable of all possible characters—in the character of a Patient.'

'When do you want my answer?'

'Can you decide to-day?'

'To-morrow?'

'Yes. Have you anything more to say?'

'Nothing more.'

'Leave me, then. I don't keep up appearances. I wish to be alone, and I say so. Good-morning.'

'Oh, the sex! the sex!' said the doctor, with his excellent temper in perfect working order again. 'So delightfully impulsive! so charmingly reckless of what they say or how they say it! 'Oh, woman, in our hours of ease, uncertain, coy, and hard to please!' There! there! there! Good-morning!'

Miss Gwilt rose and looked after him contemptuously from the window, when the street door had closed, and he had left the house.

'Armadale himself drove me to it the first time,' she said. 'Manuel drove me to it the second time.—You cowardly scoundrel! shall I let you drive me to it for the third time, and the last?'

She turned from the window, and looked thoughtfully at her widow's dress in the glass.

The hours of the day passed—and she decided nothing. The night came—and she hesitated still. The new morning dawned—and the terrible question was still unanswered.

By the early post there came a letter for her. It was Mr. Bashwood's usual report. Again he had watched for Allan's arrival, and again in vain.

'I'll have more time!' she determined, passionately. 'No man alive shall hurry me faster than I like!'

At breakfast that morning (the morning of the 9th) the doctor was surprised in his study by a visit from Miss Gwilt.

'I want another day,' she said, the moment the servant had closed the door on her.

The doctor looked at her before he answered, and saw the danger of driving her to extremities plainly expressed in her face.

'The time is getting on,' he remonstrated, in his most persuasive manner. 'For all we know to the contrary, Mr. Armadale may be here to-night.'

'I want another day!' she repeated, loudly and passionately.

'Granted!' said the doctor, looking nervously toward the door. 'Don't be too loud—the servants may hear you. Mind!' he added, 'I depend on your honor not to press me for any further delay.'

'You had better depend on my despair,' she said, and left him.