If you have mentioned it to any of the other servants--it's quite likely they may have asked you, isn't it?" he said, falling into his old habit for a moment. "If you have mentioned it to the others," he resumed, "they mustn't tell her. That's all, my good man; that's all."
To his own surprise, Joseph found himself regarding his master with a feeling of respect. Mr. Gallilee entered the library.
"How is she?" he asked, eager for news of Carmina.
"The worse for being moved," Benjulia replied. "What about your wife?"
Answering that question, Mr. Gallilee mentioned the precautions that he had taken to keep the secret of Teresa's address.
"You need be under no anxiety about that," said Benjulia. "I have left orders that Mrs. Gallilee is not to be admitted. There is a serious necessity for keeping her out. In these cases of partial catalepsy, there is no saying when the change may come. When it does come, I won't answer for her niece's reason, if those two see each other again. Send for you own medical man. The girl is his patient, and he is the person on whom the responsibility rests. Let the servant take my card to him directly. We can meet in consultation at the house."
He wrote a line on one of his visiting cards. It was at once sent to Mr. Null.
"There's another matter to be settled before I go," Benjulia proceeded. "Here are some papers, which I have received from your lawyer, Mr. Moot. They relate to a slander, which your wife unfortunately repeated--"
Mr. Gallilee got up from his chair. "Don't take my mind back to that--pray don't!" he pleaded earnestly. "I can't bear it, Doctor Benjulia--I can't bear it! Please to excuse my rudeness: it isn't intentional--I don't know myself what's the matter with me. I've always led a quiet life, sir; I'm not fit for such things as these. Don't suppose I speak selfishly. I'll do what I can, if you will kindly spare me."
He might as well have appealed to the sympathy of the table at which they were sitting. Benjulia was absolutely incapable of understanding the state of mind which those words revealed.
"Can you take these papers to your wife?" he asked. "I called here this evening--being the person to blame--to set the matter right. As it is, I leave her to make the discovery for herself. I desire to hold no more communication with your wife. Have you anything to say to me before I go?"
"Only one thing. Is there any harm in my calling at the house, to ask how poor Carmina goes on?"
"Ask as often as you like--provided Mrs. Gallilee doesn't accompany you. If she's obstinate, it may not be amiss to give your wife a word of warning. In my opinion, the old nurse is not likely to let her off, next time, with her life. I've had a little talk with that curious foreign savage. I said, 'You have committed, what we consider in England, a murderous assault. If Mrs. Gallilee doesn't mind the public exposure, you may find yourself in a prison.' She snapped her fingers in my face. 'Suppose I find myself with the hangman's rope round my neck,' she said, 'what do I care, so long as Carmina is safe from her aunt?' After that pretty answer, she sat down by her girl's bedside, and burst out crying."
Mr. Gallilee listened absently: his mind still dwelt on Carmina.
"I meant well," he said, "when I asked you to take her out of this house. It's no wonder if I was wrong. What I am too stupid to understand is--why you allowed her to be moved."
Benjulia listened with a grim smile; Mr. Gallilee's presumption amused him.
"I wonder whether there was any room left for memory, when nature furnished your narrow little head," he answered pleasantly. "Didn't I say that moving her was the least of two risks? And haven't I just warned you of what might have happened, if we had left your wife and her niece together in the same house? When I do a thing at my time of life, Mr. Gallilee--don't think me conceited--I know why I do it."
While he was speaking of himself in these terms, he might have said something more. He might have added, that his dread of the loss of Carmina's reason really meant his dread of a commonplace termination to an exceptionally interesting case. He might also have acknowledged, that he was not yielding obedience to the rules of professional etiquette, in confiding the patient to her regular medical attendant, but following the selfish suggestions of his own critical judgment.
His experience, brief as it had been, had satisfied him that stupid Mr. Null's course of action could be trusted to let the instructive progress of the malady proceed. Mr. Null would treat the symptoms in perfect good faith--without a suspicion of the nervous hysteria which, in such a constitution as Carmina's, threatened to establish itself, in course of time, as the hidden cause. These motives--not only excused, but even ennobled, by their scientific connection with the interests of Medical Research--he might have avowed, under more favourable circumstances. While his grand discovery was still barely within reach, Doctor Benjulia stood committed to a system of diplomatic reserve, which even included simple Mr. Gallilee.
He took his hat and stick, and walked out into the hall. "Can I be of further use?" he asked carelessly. "You will hear about the patient from Mr. Null."
"You won't desert Carmina?" said Mr. Gallilee. "You will see her yourself, from time to time--won't you?"
"Don't be afraid; I'll look after her." He spoke sincerely in saying this. Carmina's case had already suggested new ideas. Even the civilised savage of modern physiology (where his own interests are concerned) is not absolutely insensible to a feeling of gratitude.
Mr. Gallilee opened the door for him.
"By the-bye," he added, as he stepped out, "what's become of Zo?"
"She's upstairs, in the schoolroom."
He made one of his dreary jokes. "Tell her, when she wants to be tickled again, to let me know. Good-evening!"
Mr. Gallilee returned to the upper part of the house, with the papers left by Benjulia in his hand. Arriving at the dressing-room door, he hesitated. The papers were enclosed in a sealed envelope, addressed to his wife. Secured in this way from inquisitive eyes, there was no necessity for personally presenting them. He went on to the schoolroom, and beckoned to the parlour-maid to come out, and speak to him.
Having instructed her to deliver the papers--telling her mistress that they had been left at the house by Doctor Benjulia--he dismissed the woman from duty. "You needn't return," he said; "I'll look after the children myself."
Maria was busy with her book; and even idle Zo was employed!
She was writing at her own inky desk; and she looked up in confusion, when her father appeared. Unsuspicious Mr. Gallilee took if for granted that his favourite daughter was employed on a writing lesson--following Maria's industrious example for once. "Good children!" he said, looking affectionately from one to the other. "I won't disturb you; go on." He took a chair, satisfied--comforted, even--to be in the same room with the girls.