Two or three days after their return I saw him. His grey hair had become perfectly white; his manner was subdued; his face, full of vivid expression in past days, seemed to have fallen into a state of changeless repose. That was all.
After an interval, I asked his wife and children if they noticed any change for the worse in him. Except that he was very silent, they noticed no change for the worse. He was once more the good husband and kind father of their past happy experience. Did he ever speak of the woman? Never.
I was not quite satisfied. A month later Mrs Parley asked me if I thought a friend of mine, who was one of our greatest living physicians, could do Benjamin any good. I asked what was the matter with him. 'He seems to be getting weak,' was the only reply.
The same day I took my friend with me to Parley's house. After looking at the patient, and putting some questions, he asked to be allowed to make a complete examination. The two retired. When they returned, Mrs Parley was naturally a little alarmed. 'Is there anything that's wrong, sir?' she asked. And to my astonishment, the doctor answered, 'Nothing that I can find out.'
When we had left the house, I put the question to him, 'What does this mean?'
'It means,' he answered, 'that the old man is dying; and I can't find out why.'
Once in every week the great physician visited Parley, always refusing to take his fee; but now and then asking permission to bring a medical friend with him. One day he called on me, and said, 'If you want to say "good-bye" to the old police-officer, you have no time to lose.' I went to the house the same day. Parley was asleep. I returned some hours later. Parley was dead. I asked what he had died of, and the doctor said, 'We have obtained the widow's permission to make a post mortem examination. Wait a little.'
I waited until the funeral was over, and then returned to the subject.
'What discoveries did you make at the post-mortem examination?'
'We made no discoveries.'
'But there must have been some cause for his death?'
'I called it "decay of nature" on the certificate,' my friend answered. 'A mere pretence! The man's constitution was sound; and he had not reached seventy years of age. A registrar of deaths has nothing to do with questions of sentiment. A doctor's certificate is bound to deal with facts, otherwise --'
He paused, and drew me out of hearing of the mourners lingering in the churchyard.
'Don't mention it among my colleagues,' he said. 'If there really is such a thing -- Benjamin Parley has died of a broken heart.'