Some days had elapsed. Judith had not suffered from her second night expedition as she had from the first, but the intellectual abilities of Jamie had deteriorated. The fright he had undergone had shaken his nerves, and had made him more restless, timid, and helpless than heretofore, exacting more of Judith’s attention and more trying her endurance. But she trusted these ill effects would pass away in time. From his rambling talk she had been able to gather some particulars, which to a degree modified her opinion relative to the behavior of Mr. Obadiah Scantlebray. It appeared from the boy’s own account that he had been very troublesome. After he had been taken into the wing of the establishment that was occupied by the imbeciles, his alarm and bewilderment had grown. He had begun to cry and to clamor for his release, or for the presence of his sister. As night came on, paroxysms of impotent rage had alternated with fits of whining. The appearance of his companions in confinement, some of them complete idiots, with half-human gestures and faces, had enhanced his terrors. He would eat no supper, and when put to bed in the common dormitory had thrown off his clothes, torn his sheets, and refused to lie down; had sat up and screamed at the top of his voice. Nothing that could be done, no representations would pacify him. He prevented his fellow inmates of the asylum from sleeping, and he made it not at all improbable that his cries would be overheard by passers-by in the street, or those occupying neighboring houses, and thus give rise to unpleasant surmises, and perhaps inquiry. Finally, Scantlebray had removed the boy to the place of punishment, the Black Hole, a compartment of the cellars, there to keep him till his lungs were exhausted, or his reason gained the upper hand, and Judith supposed, with some justice, that Scantlebray had done this only, or chiefly, because he himself would be up, and about the cellars, engaged in housing his supplies of brandy, and that he had no intention of locking the unhappy boy up for the entire night, in solitude, in his cellars. He had not left him in complete darkness, for a candle had been placed on the ground outside the Black Hole door.

As Judith saw the matter now, it seemed to her that though Scantlebray had acted with harshness and lack of judgment there was some palliation for his conduct. That Jamie could be most exasperating, she knew full well by experience. When he went into one of his fits of temper and crying, it took many hours and much patience to pacify him. She had spent long time and exhausted her efforts to bring him to a subdued frame of mind on the most irrational and trifling occasions, when he had been angered. Nothing answered with him then save infinite forbearance and exuberant love. On this occasion there was good excuse for Jamie’s fit, he had been frightened, and frightened out of his few wits. As Judith said to herself—had she been treated in the same manner, spirited off, without preparation, to a strange house, confined among afflicted beings, deprived of every familiar companion—she would have been filled with terror, and reasonably so. She would not have exhibited it, however, in the same manner as Jamie.

Scantlebray had not acted with gentleness, but he had not, on the other hand, exhibited wanton cruelty. That he was a man of coarse nature, likely on provocation to break through the superficial veneer of amiability, she concluded from her own experience, and she did not doubt that those of the unfortunate inmates of the asylum who overstrained his forbearance met with very rough handling. But that he took a malignant pleasure in harassing and torturing them, that she did not believe.

On the day following the escape from the asylum, Judith sent Mr. Menaida to Wadebridge with the blanket that had been carried off round the shoulders of her brother, and with a request to have Jamie’s clothes surrendered. Uncle Zachie returned with the garments, they were not refused him, and Judith and her brother settled down into the routine of employment and amusement as before. The lad assisted Mr. Menaida with his bird skins, talking a little more childishly than before, and sticking less assiduously to his task; and Judith did her needlework and occasionally played on the piano the pieces of music at which Uncle Zachie had hammered ineffectually for many years, and she played them to the old man’s satisfaction.

At last the girl ventured to induce Jamie to recommence his lessons. He resisted at first, and when she did, on a rainy day, persuade him to set to his school tasks, she was careful not to hold him to them for more than a few minutes, and to select those lessons which made him least impatient.

There was a “Goldsmith’s Geography,” illustrated with copper-plates of Indians attacking Captain Cook, the geysers, Esquimaux fishing, etc., that always amused the boy. Accordingly, more geography was done during these first days of resumption of work than history, arithmetic, or reading. Latin had not yet been attempted, as that was Jamie’s particular aversion. However, the Eton Latin grammar was produced, and placed on the table, to familiarize his mind with the idea that it had to be tackled some day.

Judith had spread the table with lesson-books, ink, slate, and writing-copies, one morning, when she was surprised at the entry of four gentlemen, two of whom she recognized immediately as the Brothers Scantlebray. The other two she did not know. One was thin faced, with red hair, a high forehead extending to the crown, with the hair drawn over it, and well pomatumed, to keep it in place, and conceal the baldness; the other a short man, in knee-breeches and tan-boots, with a red face, and with breath that perfumed the whole room with spirits.

Mr. Scantlebray, senior, came up with both hands extended. “This is splendid! How are you? Never more charmed in my life, and ready to impart knowledge, as the sun diffuses light. Obadiah, old man, look at your pupil—better already for having passed through your hands. I can see it at a glance; there’s a brightness, a Je ne sais quoi about him that was not there before. Old man, I congratulate you. You have a gift—shake hands.”

The gentlemen seated themselves without invitation. Surprise and alarm made Judith forget her usual courtesy. She feared lest the sight of his gaolers might excite Jamie. But it was not so. Whether, in his confused mind, he did not associate Mr. Obadiah with his troubles on that night of distress, or whether his attention was distracted by the sight of so many, was doubtful, but Jamie did not seem to be disconcerted; rather, on the contrary, he was glad of some excuse for escape from lessons.

“We are come,” said the red-headed man, “at Miss Trevisa’s desire—but really, Mr. Scantlebray, for shame of you. Where are your manners? Introduce me.”

“Mr. Vokins,” said Scantlebray, “and the accomplished and charming Miss Judith Trevisa, orphing.”

“And now, dear young lady,” said the red-headed man, “now, positively, it is my turn—my friend, Mr. Jukes. Jukes, man! Miss Judith Trevisa.”

Then Mr. Vokins coughed into his thin white hand, and said, “We are come, naturally—and I am sure you wish what Miss Trevisa wishes—to just look at your brother, and give our opinion on his health.”

“Oh, he is quite well,” said Judith.

“Ah! you think so, naturally, but we would decide for ourselves, dearest young lady, though—not for the world would we willingly differ from you. But, you know, there are questions on which varieties of opinions are allowable, and yet do not disturb the most heartfelt friendship. It is so, is it not, Jukes?”

The rubicund man in knee-breeches nodded.

“Shall I begin, Jukes? Why, my fine little man! What an array of books! What scholarship! And at your age, too—astounding! What age did you say you were?” This to Jamie in an insinuating tone. Jamie stared, looked appealingly at Judith, and said nothing.

“We are the same age, we are twins,” said Judith.

“Oh! it is not the right thing to appear anxious to know a lady’s age. We will put it another way, eh, Jukes?”

The red-faced man leaned his hands on his stick, his chin on his hands, and winked, as in that position he could not nod.

“Now, my fine little man! When is your birthday? When you have your cake—raisin-cake, eh?”

Jamie looked questioningly at his sister. “Ah! Come, not the day of the month—but the month, eh?”

Jamie could not answer.

“Come now,” said the red-headed levy man, stretching his legs before him, legs vested in white trousers, strapped down tight. “Come now, my splendid specimen of humanity! In which quarter of the year? Between sickle and scythe, eh?” He waited, and receiving no answer, pulled out a pocket-book and made a note, after having first wetted the end of his pencil. “Don’t know when he was born. What do you say to that, Jukes? Will you take your turn?”

The man with an inflamed face was gradually becoming purple, as he leaned forward on his stick, and said, “Humph! a Latin grammar. Propria quÆ maribus. I remember it, but it was a long time ago I learned it. Now, whipper-snapper! How do you get on? Propria quÆ maribus—Go on.” He waited. Jamie looked at him in astonishment. “Come! Tribu—” again he waited. “Come! Tribuntur mascula dicas. Go on.” Again a pause. Then with an impatient growl. “Ut sunt divorum, Mars, Bacchus, Apollo. This will never do. Go on with the Scaramouch, Vokins. I’ll make my annotations.”

“He’s too hard on my little chap, ain’t he?” asked the thin man in ducks. “We won’t be done. We are not old enough——”

“He is but eighteen,” said Judith.

“He is but eighteen,” repeated the red-headed man. “Of course he has not got so far as that, but musa, musÆ.”

Jamie turned sulky.

“Not musa, musÆ—and eighteen years! Jukes, this is serious, Jukes; eh, Jukes?”

“Now look here, you fellows,” said Scantlebray, senior. “You are too exacting. It’s holiday time, ain’t it, Orphing? We won’t be put upon, not we. We’ll sport, and frolic, and be joyful. Look here, Scanty, old man, take the slate and draw a pictur’ to my describing. Now then, Jamie, look at him and hearken to me. He’s the funniest old man that ever was, and he’ll surprise you. Are you ready, Scanty?” Mr. Obadiah drew the slate before him, and signed with the pencil to Jamie to observe him. The boy was quite ready to see him draw. “There was once upon a time,” began Mr. Scantlebray, senior, “a man that lived in a round tower. Look at him, draw it, there you are. That is the tower. Go on. And in the tower was a round winder. Do you see the winder, Orphing? This man every morning put his hand out of the winder to ascertain which way the wind blew. He put it in thus, and drew it out thus. No! don’t look at me, look at the slate and then you’ll see it all. Now this man had a large pond, preserved full of fish.” Scratch, scratch went the pencil on the slate. “Them’s the fish,” said Scantlebray, senior. “Now below the situation of that pond, in two huts, lived a pair of thieves. You see them pokey things my brother has drawn? Them’s the ’uts. When night set in, these wicked thieves came walking up to the pond, see my brother drawing their respective courses! And on reaching the pond, they opened the sluice, and whish! whish! out poured the water.” Scratch, scratch, squeak, squeak, went the pencil on the slate. “There now! the naughty robbers went after fish, and got a goose! Look! a goo-oose.”

“Where’s the goose?” asked Jamie.

“Where? Before your eyes—under your nose. That brilliant brother of mine has drawn one. Hold the slate up, Scanty.”

“That’s not a goose,” said Jamie.

“Not a goose! You don’t know what geese are.”

“Yes, I do,” retorted the boy, resentfully, “I know the wild goose and the tame one—which do you call that?”

“Oh, wild goose, of course.”

“It’s not one. A goose hasn’t a tail like that, nor such legs,” said Jamie, contemptuously.

Mr. Scantlebray, senior, looked at Messrs. Vokins and Jukes and shook his head. “A bad case. Don’t know a goose when he sees it—and he is eighteen.”

Both Vokins and Jukes made an entry in their pocket-books.

“Now Jukes,” said Vokins, “will you take a turn, or shall I?”

“Oh, you, Vokins,” answered Jukes, “I haven’t recovered propria quÆ maribus, yet.”

“Very well, my interesting young friend. Suppose now we change the subject and try arithmetic.”

“I don’t want any arithmetic,” said Jamie, sulkily. “No—come—now we won’t call it by that name; suppose some one were to give you a shilling.”

Jamie looked up interested.

“And suppose he were to say. There—go and buy sweeties with this shilling. Tartlets at three for two pence, and barley-sugar at three farthings a stick, and——”

“I want my shilling back,” said Jamie, looking straight into the face of Mr. Scantlebray, senior.

“And that there were burnt almonds at two pence an ounce.”

“I want my shilling,” exclaimed the boy, angrily.

“Your shilling, puff! puff!” said the red-headed man. “This is ideal, an ideal shilling, and ideal jam-tarts, almond rock, burnt almonds or what you like.”

“Give me back my shilling. I won it fair,” persisted Jamie.

Then Judith, distressed, interfered. “Jamie, dear! what do you mean? You have no shilling owing to you.”

“I have! I have!” screamed the boy. “I won it fair of that man there, because I made a rabbit, and he took it from me again.”

“Hallucinations,” said Jukes.

“Quite so,” said Vokins.

“Give me my shilling. It is a cheat!” cried Jamie, now suddenly roused into one of his fits of passion.

Judith caught him by the arm, and endeavored to pacify him.

“Let go, Ju! I will have my shilling. That man took it away. He is a cheat, a thief. Give me my shilling.”

“I am afraid he is excitable,” said Vokins.

“Like all irrational beings,” answered Jukes. “I’ll make a note. Rising out of hallucinations.”

“I will have my shilling,” persisted Jamie. “Give me my shilling or I’ll throw the ink at you.”

He caught up the ink-pot, and before Judith had time to interfere had flung it across the table, intending to hit Mr. Scantlebray, senior, but not hurt him, and the black fluid was scattered over Mr. Vokins’s white trousers.

“Bless my life!” exclaimed this gentleman, springing to his feet, pulling out his handkerchief to wipe away the ink, and only smearing it the more over his “ducks” and discoloring as well, his kerchief. “Bless my life—Jukes! a dangerous lunatic. Note at once. Clearly comes within the act. Clearly.”

In a few minutes all had left, and Judith was endeavoring to pacify her irritated brother. His fingers were blackened, and finally she persuaded him to go up-stairs and wash his hands clear of the ink.

Then she ran into the adjoining room to Mr. Menaida. “Oh, dear Mr. Menaida!” she said, “what does this mean? Why have they been here?”

Uncle Zachie looked grave and discomposed.

“My dear,” said he. “Those were doctors, and they have been here, sent by your aunt, to examine into the condition of Jamie’s intellect, and to report on what they have observed. There was a little going beyond the law, perhaps, at first. That is why they took it so easily when you carried Jamie off. They knew you were with an old lawyer; they knew that you or I could sue for a writ of Habeas Corpus.”

“But do you really think—that Aunt Dionysia is going to have Jamie sent back to that man at Wadebridge?”

“I am certain of it. That is why they came here to-day.”

“Can I not prevent it?”

“I do not think so. If you go to law——”

“But if they once get him, they will make an idiot or a madman of him.”

“Then you must see your aunt and persuade her not to send him there.”