Uncle Silas: A Tale of Bartram-Haugh. Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
actually did arrive at Knowl, quite unexpectedly, except, I suppose, by my father. He was to stay only one night.
He was twice closeted in the little study up-stairs with my father, who seemed to me, even for him, unusually dejected, and Mrs. Rusk inveighing against 'them rubbitch,' as she always termed the Swedenborgians, told me 'they were making him quite shaky-like, and he would not last no time, if that lanky, lean ghost of a fellow in black was to keep prowling in and out of his room like a tame cat.'
I lay awake that night, wondering what the mystery might be that connected my father and Dr. Bryerly. There was something more than the convictions of their strange religion could account for. There was something that profoundly agitated my father. It may not be reasonable, but so it is. The person whose presence, though we know nothing of the cause of that effect, is palpably attended with pain to anyone who is dear to us, grows odious, and I began to detest Doctor Bryerly.
It was a grey, dark morning, and in a dark pass in the gallery, near the staircase, I came full upon the ungainly Doctor, in his glossy black suit.
I think, if my mind had been less anxiously excited on the subject of his visit, or if I had not disliked him so much, I should not have found courage to accost him as I did. There was something sly, I thought, in his dark, lean face; and he looked so low, so like a Scotch artisan in his Sunday clothes, that I felt a sudden pang of indignation, at the thought that a great gentleman, like my father, should have suffered under his influence, and I stopped suddenly, instead of passing him by with a mere salutation, as he expected, 'May I ask a question, Doctor Bryerly?'
'Certainly'
'Are you the friend whom my father expects?'
'I don't quite see.'
'The friend, I mean, with whom he is to make an expedition to some distance, I think, and for some little time?'
'No,' said the Doctor, with a shake of his head.
'And who is he?'
'I really have not a notion, Miss.'
'Why, he said that you knew,' I replied.
The Doctor looked honestly puzzled.
'Will he stay long away? pray tell me.'
The Doctor looked into my troubled face with inquiring and darkened eyes, like one who half reads another's meaning; and then he said a little briskly, but not sharply—
'Well, I don't know, I'm sure, Miss; no, indeed, you must have mistaken; there's nothing that I know.'
There was a little pause, and he added—
'No. He never mentioned any friend to me.' I fancied that he was made uncomfortable by my question, and wanted to hide the truth. Perhaps I was partly right.
'Oh! Doctor Bryerly, pray, pray who is the friend, and where is he going?'
'I do assure you,' he said, with a strange sort of impatience, 'I don't know; it is all nonsense.'
And he turned to go, looking, I think, annoyed and disconcerted.
A terrific suspicion crossed my brain like lightning.
'Doctor, one word,' I said, I believe, quite wildly. 'Do you—do you think his mind is at all affected?'
'Insane?' he said, looking at me with a sudden, sharp inquisitiveness, that brightened into a smile. 'Pooh, pooh! Heaven forbid! not a saner man in England.'
Then with a little nod he walked on, carrying, as I believed, notwithstanding his disclaimer, the secret with him. In the afternoon Doctor Bryerly went away.
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