Gregory walked up and down the hall, adopting a sauntering step when Buttermere moved into sight. When Dufferin came, he repeated Rachel’s words with his eyes on his face. Dufferin stood for a long moment, meeting the eyes, and hurried into the dining-room.
Godfrey took a step towards him, as if to protest and explain, but drew back and watched the meeting with Matthew with aloof, almost furtive eyes.
“Well, come upstairs with me, Matthew. You are my patient this morning, and will do what you are told. You know better than to waste my time.”
Matthew rose and went with his friend, as if willing for his companionship, and the family stood in silence.
“Well, has Gregory told you?” said Matthew, when they reached his room. “I did it because there was nothing else to be done. She would have parted me from Camilla; it was in her mind. I had got to read her mind. And now I find it is of no good, that it is worse. Camilla has given me up because of it.” His tones hurried and stumbled and his eyes went wild. “You know Camilla was in this room with me that day Mother died, that day we knew she was dead? She sat here on this bed with me. You did not know that?” He pulled himself together and went on with a quiet smile. “I am the victim of my own plot, and I am anxious for the end to come as soon as it can. I want to get in advance of Camilla. She will never keep it to herself. She cannot carry a burden. I begin to see that many people could not. I can’t get the others to believe me, but I think Jermyn does.”
“You took the tablet from my cupboard?” said Dufferin.
“Yes, you must see that I did,” said Matthew, his voice sounding tired. “You see that I must have. You know my mother did not understand what was there. She could not have recognised the tablets if she had found them. I thought it all out. I knew she had been in your room by herself, and what would be said after what she had done before. And you know she had lost her desire for death. You knew it all. I wondered you did not think of it at the time, especially when the point was raised of my being the last person to see her alive.”
“You did, did you?” said Dufferin. “Well, of course it was plain to you. But it didn’t strike anyone as a natural thing for you to do, even though you had your own ends to serve. I thought there must be some other explanation, and accepted the only one. But you are right that I see it now. You thought your mother’s life a reasonable price to pay for your own safe happiness! And you think your father’s and your sister’s suffering a fair exchange for your own peaceful exit, now you have finished with things yourself! For a man of such a mind neither death nor any living death is a useful thing. You will find you have no fancy for death, except for your mother. Your thoughts will go to the way of escape, that come to you through her. You may as well depend on her to the end, since you have learned how to put her to your own use. You have had a delusion. You have over-deep feelings, inherited from her, and a precarious mental balance, also that heritage. And her first attempt on her life had preyed on your mind. And I am not saying that all those things did not do their part. That must help me to do what I can for you; I shall need the help. You must take shelter behind that falsehood, and spend your life in its cover. You have shown you are not the kind to come out.”
“I did not know you were cruel,” said Matthew.
“You have been kind, haven’t you, in putting an end to your mother, when she had some dark years behind her, and the chance of some better ones ahead? Who knew that you were cruel in the way you are? I am not saying you did not suffer from her, but you would never have suffered death. It was your life that was in her mind. People who think of themselves to that extent don’t want their years snatched from them. It was your mother who was to lose her years. You will do no more harm, Matthew. You will fall in with what is best for other people, and its being best for you will not prevent you. You are too like your mother. The tragedy got on your mind, and you fancied yourself the author of the thing that made too deep an impression. That is a possible thing; perhaps you knew that. Now get your head clear about the truth — the truth, Matthew. And I will turn your key and take it with me, and go and explain your case to your family, as I have explained it to you. That suits your own mind very well?”
“I don’t really care,” muttered Matthew.
“You have got away from the desire for justice. People don’t want what they deserve, when they deserve so much. You can lie down and be ill. You are ill for that matter; you are in a very low state; that part needn’t be acting. And the rest must get not to be. It is a great relief to you to be free from your burden. That is so even between ourselves. We shall never say a word of this again, if we live to be old men. Doors have ears. I saw Buttermere’s face. And I see yours too. You have learnt your lesson. You haven’t needed much teaching, and you will never need any more.”
Dufferin locked the door and went downstairs, humming a snatch of song. He entered the dining-room and left the door ajar.
“Ah, the poor boy! We have got it over. He will never have the fancy again. It was as real to him as if it had been the truth. He faced it as truly as if he had it in his memory. And he behaved well.” Dufferin, in his effort to encounter Godfrey’s eyes, found himself echoing his speech.
“He did, Doctor,” said Godfrey, coming forward with extended hand. “I thank you for the words. He is a hero. I thank you for establishing it. We all thank you for lifting this great weight off our minds. For we didn’t know what to think. I confess I didn’t. He might have done it in illness, just as he fancied he had done it in illness, the poor, overstrung lad! He is like his mother. If any one of her children is like her, it is he. And seeming to feel the least all the time! Ah, still waters run deep. Well, Rachel stood by us, and did not let her belief falter. She held up her heart and she held up ours. She knew the truth. She sensed it. Her woman’s instinct led her right. Ah, that is the kind of thing to trust.”
“Then Mother did want to die?” said Griselda.
“Yes, she did want to,” said Dufferin. “We have to look at that. But it was only a moment, and not the moment we imagine. She would have had a sort of exaltation.”
“My poor, heroic, erring wife!” said Godfrey.
“Godfrey, you know you are sure that Harriet hears everything,” said Rachel.
“Is Matthew clear now that he was under a delusion?” said Jermyn.
“Yes, it is all over,” said Dufferin. “I don’t think it can come on him again, but I am going to keep a watch on him to-day. I will take in his meals myself, and have him under my eye. Buttermere is not the person to be about him, or about anyone in a nervous state. Don’t interfere with me. I know what I am doing.”
“We are too grateful, Doctor,” said Godfrey. “But one of us will go upstairs with the meals.”
“No. I said I knew what I was doing. He would rather have me. He will be himself to-morrow, if he gets some sleep.”
“Dear, dear, this sleeplessness! It is a ghastly thing to have in a family. The poor boy gets it from his mother,” said Godfrey. “Now one thing I know, it doesn’t come from me. I have never been sleepless in my life; and since everything has been to pieces about us, I have been a dead man from midnight to morning. Well, Buttermere, we have good news about Mr. Matthew. We can call on you to congratulate us. He has thrown off the sad delusion that was troubling him. It is off his mind, and the world is clear before him. You know his engagement is broken off?”