The Two Destinies

by Wilkie Collins

my sitting-room.For the moment solitude is dreadful to me, and yet I cannot go intosociety; I shrink from persons who are mere acquaintances. At SirJames's suggestion, however, one visitor at the hotel has been asked todine with us, who claims distinction as no ordinary guest. The physicianwho first warned me of the critical state of my mother's health isanxious to hear what I can tell him of her last moments. His time is tooprecious to be wasted in the earlier hours of the day, and he joinsus at the dinner-table when his patients leave him free to visit hisfriends.

  The dinner is nearly at an end. I have made the effort to preserve myself-control; and in few words have told the simple story of my mother'slast peaceful days on earth. The conversation turns next on topics oflittle interest to me: my mind rests after the effort that it has made;my observation is left free to exert itself as usual.

  Little by little, while the talk goes on, I observe something in theconduct of the celebrated physician which first puzzles me, and thenarouses my suspicion of some motive for his presence which has not beenacknowledged, and in which I am concerned.

  Over and over again I discover that his eyes are resting on me with afurtive interest and attention which he seems anxious to conceal. Overand over again I notice that he contrives to divert the conversationfrom general topics, and to lure me into talking of myself; and,stranger still (unless I am quite mistaken), Sir James understands andencourages him. Under various pretenses I am questioned about what Ihave suffered in the past, and what plans of life I have formed for thefuture. Among other subjects of personal interest to me, the subjectof supernatural appearances is introduced. I am asked if I believein occult spiritual sympathies, and in ghostly apparitions of dead ordistant persons. I am dexterously led into hinting that my views onthis difficult and debatable question are in some degree influenced byexperiences of my own. Hints, however, are not enough to satisfy thedoctor's innocent curiosity; he tries to induce me to relate in detailwhat I have myself seen and felt. But by this time I am on my guard;I make excuses; I steadily abstain from taking my friend into myconfidence. It is more and more plain to me that I am being made thesubject of an experiment, in which Sir James and the physician areequally interested. Outwardly assuming to be guiltless of any suspicionof what is going on, I inwardly determine to discover the true motivefor the doctor's presence that evening, and for the part that Sir Jameshas taken in inviting him to be my guest.

  Events favor my purpose soon after the dessert has been placed on thetable.

  The waiter enters the room with a letter for me, and announces that thebearer waits to know if there is any answer. I open the envelope, andfind inside a few lines from my lawyers, announcing the completion ofsome formal matter of business. I at once seize the opportunity that isoffered to me. Instead of sending a verbal message downstairs, I make myapologies, and use the letter as a pretext for leaving the room.

  Dismissing the messenger who waits below, I return to the corridor inwhich my rooms are situated, and softly open the door of my bed-chamber.A second door communicates with the sitting-room, and has a ventilatorin the upper part of it. I have only to stand under the ventilator,and every word of the conversation between Sir James and the physicianreaches my ears.

  "Then you think I am right?" are the first words I hear, in Sir James'svoice.

  "Quite right," the doctor answers.

  "I have done my best to make him change his dull way of life," Sir Jamesproceeds. "I have asked him to pay a visit to my house in Scotland; Ihave proposed traveling with him on the Continent; I have offeredto take him with me on my next voyage in the yacht. He has but oneanswer--he simply says No to everything that I can suggest. You haveheard from his own lips that he has no definite plans for the future.What is to become of him? What had we better do?"

  "It is not easy to say," I hear the physician reply. "To speak plainly,the man's nervous system is seriously deranged. I noticed somethingstrange in him when he first came to consult me about his mother'shealth. The mischief has not been caused entirely by the affliction ofher death. In my belief, his mind has been--what shall I say?--unhinged,for some time past. He is a very reserved person. I suspect he has beenoppressed by anxieties which he has kept secret from every one. At hisage, the unacknowledged troubles of life are generally troubles causedby women. It is in his temperament to take the romantic view of love;and some matter-of-fact woman of the present day may have bitterlydisappointed him. Whatever may be the cause, the effect is plain--hisnerves have broken down, and his brain is necessarily affected bywhatever affects his nerves. I have known men in his condition who haveended badly. He may drift into insane delusions, if his present courseof life is not altered. Did you hear what he said when we talked aboutghosts?"

  "Sheer nonsense!" Sir James remarks.

  "Sheer delusion would be the more correct form of expression," thedoctor rejoins. "And other delusions may grow out of it at any moment."

  "What is to be done?" persists Sir James. "I may really say for myself,doctor, that I feel a fatherly interest in the poor fellow. His motherwas one of my oldest and dearest friends, and he has inherited many ofher engaging and endearing qualities. I hope you don't think the case isbad enough to be a case for restraint?"

  "Certainly not--as yet," answers the doctor. "So far there is nopositive brain disease; and there is accordingly no sort of reasonfor placing him under restraint. It is essentially a difficult and adoubtful case. Have him privately looked after by a competent person,and thwart him in nothing, if you can possibly help it. The meresttrifle may excite his suspicions; and if that happens, we lose allcontrol over him."

  "You don't think he suspects us already, do you, doctor?"

  "I hope not. I saw him once or twice look at me very strangely; and hehas certainly been a long time out of the room."

  Hearing this, I wait to hear no more. I return to the sitting-room (byway of the corridor) and resume my place at the table.

  The indignation that I feel--naturally enough, I think, under thecircumstances--makes a good actor of me for once in my life. I inventthe necessary excuse for my long absence, and take my part in theconversation, keeping the strictest guard on every word that escapes me,without betraying any appearance of restraint in my manner. Early in theevening the doctor leaves us to go to a scientific meeting. For half anhour or more Sir James remains with me. By way (as I suppose) of farthertesting the state of my mind, he renews the invitation to his house inScotland. I pretend to feel flattered by his anxiety to secure me ashis guest. I undertake to reconsider my first refusal, and to give him adefinite answer when we meet the next morning at breakfast. Sir James isdelighted. We shake hands cordially, and wish each other good-night. Atlast I am left alone.

  My resolution as to my next course of proceeding is formed without amoment's hesitation. I determine to leave the hotel privately the nextmorning before Sir James is out of his bedroom.

  To what destination I am to betake myself is naturally the next questionthat arises, and this also I easily decide. During the last days of mymother's life we spoke together frequently of the happy past days whenwe were living together on the banks of the Greenwater lake. The longingthus inspired to look once more at the old scenes, to live for a whileagain among the old associations, has grown on me since my mother'sdeath. I have, happily for myself, not spoken of this feeling to SirJames or to any other person. When I am missed at the hotel, there willbe no suspicion of the direction in which I have turned my steps. To theold home in Suffolk I resolve to go the next morning. Wandering amongthe scenes of my boyhood, I can consider with myself how I may best bearthe burden of the life that lies before me.

  After what I have heard that evening, I confide in nobody. For all Iknow to the contrary, my own servant may be employed to-morrow as thespy who watches my actions. When the man makes his appearance to takehis orders for the night, I tell him to wake me at six the next morning,and release him from further attendance.

  I next employ myself in writing two letters. They will be left on thet
able, to speak for themselves after my departure.

  In the first letter I briefly inform Sir James that I have discoveredhis true reason for inviting the doctor to dinner. While I thank him forthe interest he takes in my welfare, I decline to be made the object ofany further medical inquiries as to the state of my mind. In duecourse of time, when my plans are settled, he will hear from me again.Meanwhile, he need feel no anxiety about my safety. It is one among myother delusions to believe that I am still perfectly capable of takingcare of myself. My second letter is addressed to the landlord of thehotel, and simply provides for the disposal of my luggage and thepayment of my bill.

  I enter my bedroom next, and pack a traveling-bag with the few thingsthat I can carry with me. My money is in my dressing-case. Opening it, Idiscover my pretty keepsake--the green flag! Can I return to