Catherine's, the place was called. There we lived quietly for a
time. Sometimes he was better, sometimes worse. The doctor in
the village was very kind and came often to see him. He brought
a friend from the neighboring town and they agreed that with
complete rest Wenham would soon be better. All the time my life
was a miserable one. He was not fit to be alone and yet he was a
terrible companion. I did my best. I was with him half of every
day, sometimes longer. I was with him till my own health began
to suffer. At last I could stand the solitude no longer. I sent
for my father. He came and lived with us."
"The professor," her listener murmured.
She nodded.
"It was a little better then for me," she went on, "except that
poor Wenham seemed to take such a dislike to my father. However,
he hated every one in turn, even the doctors, who always did
their best for him. One day, I admit, I lost my temper. We
quarreled; I could not help it--life was becoming insupportable.
He rushed out of the house--it was about three o'clock in the
afternoon. I have never seen him since."
The man was looking at her, looking at her closely although he
was blinking all the time.
"What do you think became of him?" he asked. "What do people
think? "
She shook her head.
"The only thing he cared to do was swim," she said. "His clothes
and hat were found down in the little cove near where we had a
tent."
"You think, then, that he was drowned?" the man asked.
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