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Updated: June 6, 2025
Tennison had allowed him to take her daughter to Florence to consult another specialist at the hospital of Santa Maria Nuova. "I think you know a Mrs. Cullerton," I remarked at last. The effect of my words upon her was almost electrical. "Dolly Cullerton!" she shrieked. "Ah! Don't mention that woman's name! Please do not mention her!"
Gabrielle Tennison, the sweet, open-hearted girl whom I first met under such extraordinary circumstances, is now my wife. We live very happily in a charming, old-world farmhouse embowered in roses and honeysuckle, on the Portsmouth Road at Cobham, in Surrey.
Tennison, bishop of Lincoln, recommended by the whig-party which now predominated in the cabinet. The queen did not long survive her favourite prelate. In about a month after his decease she was taken ill of the smallpox, and the symptoms proving dangerous, she prepared herself for death with great composure.
"Perhaps, Miss Tennison, you knew him under some other name," I said, and then proceeded to describe minutely the handsome, rather foreign-looking man who had bribed me to give that certificate of death. "Have you an uncle?" I asked presently, recollecting that the man at Stretton Street had declared the victim to be his niece. "I have an uncle my mother's brother he lives in Liverpool."
"Yes, Miss Tennison, I did," I replied as I sprang from my chair and bent over her hand. "So you recollect me eh?" "I do. They said that you would call upon me," she replied, her beautiful face suddenly clouding. "Who told you that?" I asked. "Doctor Moroni. He warned me that you were my enemy." I drew a long breath, for I discerned the depth of the plot.
Was Gabrielle Engledue living or was she dead? Or was Gabrielle Tennison and Gabrielle Engledue one and the same person? A living face is different from that of the same person when dead, hence the great problem presenting itself.
When I explained that the object of my visit was to learn something of the case of my friend Miss Tennison, he asked me to sit down and then switched on a green-shaded reading-lamp and referred to a big book upon his writing table. His consulting room was dull and dark, with heavy Victorian furniture and a great bookcase filled with medical works.
When we look into shop windows together she will refer to a yellow dress as mauve, a pink as white. At times she cannot distinguish colours. Yet now and then her vision becomes quite normal." "I have had some difficulty, Mrs. Tennison, in that way myself," I said. "When I first left St.
Tennison, our discussion does not concern politics," I said, anxious for the future of the graceful girl whom I had grown to love so dearly, even though her brain was unbalanced.
Gabrielle, pale-faced and tragic, looked at me strangely, and then meekly followed the old Professor into his consulting-room. The door was closed, and Mrs. Tennison waited with me in silence.
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