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My mind was sadly disturbed; my nerves were so shaken that the slightest noises on the road startled me. The opinion of a man like Mr. MacGlue, who looked at all mortal matters from the same immovably practical point of view, might really have its use, in my case, as a species of moral remedy. We waited until the dessert was on the table, and the servants had left the dining-room.
"I'll readily excuse you," answered Mr. MacGlue; "the rather that I'm entirely of your opinion. I don't believe in the rational explanation myself." This was surprising, to say the least of it. "What do you believe in?" I inquired. Mr. MacGlue declined to let me hurry him. "Wait a little," he said. "There's the irrational explanation to try next.
I can tell him of another man who kept a written appointment with a ghost, and what came of it." This was a startling announcement. Did he really mean what he said? "Are you in jest or in earnest?" I asked. "I never joke, sir," said Mr. MacGlue. "No sick person really believes in a doctor who jokes. You may have wondered, I dare say, at seeing me take your strange narrative as coolly as I do.
On my return, I was grieved to observe a change for the worse, for which her letters had not prepared me. Consulting our medical friend, Mr. MacGlue, I found that he, too, had noticed my mother's failing health, but that he attributed it to an easily removable cause to the climate of Scotland. My mother's childhood and early life had been passed on the southern shores of England.
I had the honor of presenting my respects at your house yonder when you first came to live in this neighborhood. There my patience gave way. "Never mind me!" I interposed. "Tell me about the lady!" "You have opened your mouth, sir!" cried Mr. MacGlue, severely. "You know the penalty take a sup of this.
"If you feel the slightest doubt of what I have told you," I went on, "ask my mother; she will bear witness that she saw the writing too." "I don't doubt that you both saw the writing," answered Mr. MacGlue, with a composure that surprised me. "Can you account for it?" I asked.
I have heard him talking of her in his sleep, and I have seen the tears on his eyelids. My poor boy! What thousands of charming women there are who would ask nothing better than to be his wife! And the one woman whom he can never marry is the only woman whom he loves! "25th. A long conversation about George with Mr. MacGlue.
With those parting words, Mr. MacGlue left us to ourselves. "Is it really true?" I said to my mother. "Has she left the inn, without waiting to see me?" "Nobody could stop her, George," my mother answered. "The lady left the inn this morning by the coach for Edinburgh." I was bitterly disappointed. Yes: "bitterly" is the word though she was a stranger to me. "Did you see her yourself?" I asked.
"I will have nothing to do with it, George. You are in a state of delusion; I shall speak to the doctor." "By all means, my dear mother. Mr. MacGlue is a sensible person. We pass his house on our way home, and we will ask him to dinner. In the meantime, let us say no more on the subject till we see the doctor." I spoke lightly, but I really meant what I said.
I very much doubt whether the lady's appointment will prove to be the salvation of You." I silently reconsidered the strange narrative which had just been related to me. Another man had seen what I had seen had done what I proposed to do! My mother noticed with grave displeasure the strong impression which Mr. MacGlue had produced on my mind.
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