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You must tell me more before I can offer you any advice. What has become of the first husband?" He asked this question in a decisive tone, as if he knew it to be the key-stone of an arch. "I have already told you, Dr. Mosgrave, that I do not know." "Yes," answered the physician, "but your face has told me what you have withheld from me; it has told me that you suspect." Robert Audley was silent.
Mosgrave," he said. "I will confide entirely in your honor and goodness. I do not ask you to do any wrong to society; but I ask you to save our stainless name from degradation and shame, if you can do so conscientiously." He told the story of George's disappearance, and of his own doubts and fears, Heaven knows how reluctantly. Dr. Mosgrave listened as quietly as he had listened before.
Mosgrave checked him with an authoritative gesture. "From the moment in which Lady Audley enters that house," he said, "her life, so far as life is made up of action and variety, will be finished. Whatever secrets she may have will be secrets forever! Whatever crimes she may have committed she will be able to commit no more.
"I have been given to understand, Dr. Mosgrave, that you have devoted much of your attention to the treatment of insanity." "Yes, my practice is almost confined to the treatment of mental diseases." "Such being the case, I think I may venture to conclude that you sometimes receive strange, and even terrible, revelations." Dr. Mosgrave bowed.
Mosgrave looked at his watch, a fifty-guinea Benson-made chronometer, which he carried loose in his waistcoat pocket as carelessly as if it had been a potato. "I need not remind you that my time is precious," he said; "your telegram informed me that my services were required in a case of danger as I apprehend, or I should not be here this morning."
There was official business to be gone through before Sir Michael's wife could be quietly put away in the place suggested by Dr. Mosgrave.
George Talboys, and the advertisement of the death was inserted in the "Times" two days before her husband's arrival in England. Sir Michael could hear no more. He and his daughter Alicia departed that evening for the Continent. Next day, Dr. Mosgrave, a mental specialist, arrived from London.
Robert Audley stared, wondering at the mad doctor. By what process had he so rapidly arrived at the young man's secret desire? "Yes, I would rather, if possible, think her mad; I should be glad to find that excuse for her." "And to save the esclandre of a Chancery suit, I suppose, Mr, Audley," said Dr. Mosgrave. Robert shuddered as he bowed an assent to this remark.
The first fast train from London arrived at Audley at half-past ten o'clock, and at five minutes before eleven, Richards, the grave servant, announced Dr. Alwyn Mosgrave. The physician from Saville Row was a tall man of about fifty years of age.
"The story which I am about to tell you is not my own story," said Robert, after a pause; "you will forgive me, therefore, if I once more remind you that I can only reveal it upon the understanding that under no circumstances, or upon no apparent justification, is that confidence to be betrayed." Dr. Mosgrave bowed again. A little sternly, perhaps, this time. "I am all attention, Mr.
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