Greystoke had once been a manor-house and place of mark in the county of Hopshire. A long-fronted but compact mansion, with thick walls and a wide moat, it still looked capable of withstanding a siege. Not that there was any chance of one. Admission was not difficult to obtain, provided the usual formalities were observed. The thing was to get out again when you had once got in. The natural strength of the place made it nearly as secure as a prison. But no bolts or bars were needed; if the stout doors and numerous gates, deep moat, and broad haha had not sufficed, there was behind all the lynx-eyed watchfulness of the attendants.

Joe Hanlon was in high favour at Greystoke. In him—thanks to his long military training—prompt unhesitating obedience had come to be second nature. All orders he received he carried out implicitly, and to the letter. He was as plucky too as he was punctual; and he could always be relied on when there was an ugly job on hand. Hard, tough, and resolute, he was ready to tackle the most truculent patient, and brave his fiercest rage. ‘The Boy’s’ little weakness for refreshment might have done him harm at Greystoke, but his superiors at the asylum were not as keen in the detection of unsteadiness as the non-commissioned officers of the Duke’s Own; and when Joe was at all ‘on,’ he managed to keep the secret to himself. Perhaps, as a valuable servant, his masters were often conveniently blind.

As a person of some authority, Hanlon was at liberty to go where he pleased in the establishment. One morning he paid a visit to the female wing, and asked to see Miss Ponting.

‘Good morning, Mr. Hanlon.’

‘Morning, Miss. How is she to-day?’ he went on at once, and with no little excitement in his voice.

‘Her ladyship? Like a lamb. What’s amiss, Mr. Hanlon? You look peeked.’

Miss Ponting’s duties had lain for some years with the most aristocratic patients, and she cultivated a refinement of language and a fastidiousness of expression which imposed upon no one so much as herself. But for the firm lines of her mouth and steady eye—traits which proved her fitness for her present employment—she might have been set down as a fat foolish woman of forty, with the airs and graces of girlhood, and the pretentiousness of one who sought to be considered superior to her station. She had a fine eye for the main chance, however, and this had led her to listen willingly enough to ‘the Boy’s’ blandishments. There was profit, perhaps, substantial and considerable, to be got out of the affair.

‘They’re coming over this very day,’ cried Hanlon. ‘Sir Rupert and the captain’—Joe had already given Herbert promotion, partly out of affection, and partly to impress Miss Ponting—‘and the whole kit of ’em.’

‘Well, what puts you in such a taking? We ain’t to be trampled upon like the sands of the seashore. We’re ready for anyone that chooses to come.’

‘But is she? The captain means to have her out, and so I tell you; and it’ll all depend on how they find her. Is she fit to be seen?’

‘Never was better. Her appetite’s combsar, but her manner’s quite degagy, and her temper debonnair.’

‘Will it do to prepare her? Won’t it flurry her, as when you told her of the fight on the Coast?’

‘Best break it to her judgematically, and with—with—a composing draught. I’ll tell her too to hold her tongue—she is mindful of what I say, always—and answer only when she’s spoken to; and if I put her into a quiet dress, and keep my eye on her, she’ll come through all right, or call me Jenny Say Quoy.’

‘I’ll call you a brick, and a beauty, and Mrs. Hanlon, or anything you please,’ said ‘the Boy,’ in high glee. ‘You’re quite a genius, Georgeyana, and I’ll fight the man who says you ain’t.’

The visitors arrived punctually at eleven. Dr. Fewster, the proprietor of the establishment, who had been briefly apprised by Sir Rupert, received them in state in his drawing-room. He was a man of a not uncommon type, but certain peculiar characteristics were very strongly developed in him. A superficial observer, after five minutes’ talk, would have thought him one of the pleasantest men in the world. The moment he met you, Dr. Fewster took possession of you, and began to dose you with oil—not that known in the profession as croton, cod-liver, or castor—but the metaphorical oil of compliment and flattery, very thinly disguised. If he had not taken to lunacy, he might have made a fortune in general practice, so honeyed were his accents, and reassuring his tone.

When Herbert was presented to him, Dr. Fewster put out his hand, and said with much feeling,

‘To shake hands with a hero is indeed an honour for us who never leave our armchairs at home. Let me tell you, Mr. Larkins, such deeds as yours send a thrill through the whole country, and we are proud—proud to call you one of ourselves.’

All this time he held Herbert’s hand, and was shaking it as though it was a bottle of his own medicine, very much to Herbert’s discomfort, who inwardly apostrophised him as an ass, a humbug, and a cad.

‘And you, Sir Rupert, how pained yet how pleased you must have been to welcome him home—to have thanked him for his devotion. Ah! would, would to Heaven it had been more successful—’

Dr. Fewster turned away, overcome with emotion, but Sir Rupert, who knew his man, said abruptly,

‘We have come on business, doctor.’

‘So I understood from your letter, although you did not exactly specify what. It is not then merely to visit my establishment, which by the bye I should be only too happy to show, but—’

‘To see Lady Farrington.’

‘Indeed! This gentleman is perhaps acquainted with, possibly interested in, the case?’

‘This Mr. Larkins,’ said Sir Rupert, not without bitterness, ‘is an old friend and protÉgÉ of her ladyship’s. He has not seen her for some years—in fact not since she has been here.’

‘To be sure, to be sure, I remember now,’ and the doctor looked at Herbert with a keen, cunning glance, wondering whether there was anything to fear from that quarter.

‘I have not yet been my rounds,’ he said; ‘I cannot tell how her ladyship is this morning; but if she is presentable—there are times, you understand, when she is not quite, quite self-possessed, you know, and perhaps—’

‘Mr. Larkins thinks that there may be some mistake; that the poor lady is not what you, Dr. Fewster, and what we all imagine. He has heard that she is perfectly quiet and rational.’

‘May I ask from whom?’

Herbert did not reply. He was too much interested in the door, at which he was looking steadily. He was perhaps expecting some one.

‘Some one in the establishment,’ Sir Rupert answered for him.

‘In my establishment? Can it be possible that you would accept any evidence but my own? I forbear to ask who your informant may be’—in his own secret heart he was registering a vow to discover, and mentally promising the culprit a very short shrift—‘but I need hardly say that information surreptitiously obtained cannot always be quite relied upon. Nor, may I add, is any opinion of real value but that of those duly accredited; and I must maintain mine against all comers save and except the great lights and authorities of my own profession.’

At this moment a servant entered with a card, which Dr. Fewster took up carelessly, but as he looked at it his demeanour suddenly changed.

‘Where is he?’ he hurriedly inquired of the servant. ‘In my study? or has he gone into the building? Gentlemen, pray forgive me, but this is a visitor whom I cannot neglect. It is Dr. Darlington Mayne, the eminent alienist, and as you, perhaps, are aware, the newly-appointed Chancellor’s visitor. You will follow me, I trust?’

Sir Rupert looked savagely interrogative at Herbert, as though to inquire whether it was by his agency that this great official had appeared so opportunely upon the scene.

‘I thought it would be more satisfactory to all parties,’ Herbert said, quite calmly. ‘A friend of mine is an intimate friend of his, and Dr. Mayne is already in full possession of all the facts of the case.’

‘The young fellow plays his game closely,’ thought the doctor, as he left the room.

‘The young villain has stolen a march upon me,’ thought Sir Rupert, and so Herbert evidently had.

Dr. Fewster was a little nervous when he met the great man, who, without waiting for the proprietor, had gone at once into Lady Farrington’s apartments, and was already in close conversation with her.

‘Dr. Fewster? Ah! I wished to see her ladyship,’ began Dr. Mayne, rather curtly.

‘Oh, of course. And how are you this morning, my dear lady?’ inquired the asylum doctor.

‘Very well; perfectly well, as I have been these five years past,’ replied Lady Farrington, with great coolness and self-possession.

The old lady had aged considerably since we last saw her. Her hair was snow white. There was a sort of rather mournful expression in her dark eyes, which one sees often in human beings and all who have been long in captivity, and have but little hope of release. But these eyes had lost none of their brilliancy, and she sat up straight in her chair, with evident signs of strength and vitality still unimpaired. The great news which the attendant had communicated to her but an hour or two before, that Herbert was close by, and meant to get her out, somehow, had put new life into her.

‘Your ladyship slept well?’ went on Dr. Fewster, ‘no visions, no visitors—from Africa?’

Lady Farrington’s hands trembled, and a sudden gleam flashed from her eyes, but she saw Miss Ponting looking at her, and instantly she subsided into perfect calm.

The reference to Herbert was artfully made, but it failed.

‘I never see visions. You are talking nonsense, Dr. Fewster.’

‘No apparitions? No ghostly messages from missing and long-lost friends?’

Lady Farrington appeared a little agitated, but again a glance from Miss Ponting reassured her.

‘Of course not. I do not understand you in the least.’

‘Nothing from Herbert Larkins? He has given you no warning of his approaching return?’

This was a great trial to her ladyship, but she bore it wonderfully well. A greater test was in store for her.

‘What if I tell you he is close at hand, that within a week, within a day or two perhaps, you may see him again?’

The poor lady’s fortitude for a moment gave way:

‘You mean that he is here at this moment, actually here in the house. Oh, let me see him! my sweet, sweet boy; now, now, at once, I implore you—’

Then she stopped suddenly, but with a manifest effort, and turning to Dr. Mayne, said piteously,

‘It is not fair; it is cruel to work upon my feelings thus. This is the subject nearest to my heart, and he knows it, hoping to excite me and make me appear other than I am. It is for this dear boy that I am imprisoned here—I will speak—’ (this was in answer to a warning gesture from Miss Ponting). ‘This gentleman is a Government visitor, he has said so, come here on purpose to do me justice. He shall hear the whole story from beginning to end, and he will know then that I have been the victim of the hardest usage and foul play.’

Dr. Fewster turned to Dr. Mayne with a meaning look, which plainly implied that he would now see the form taken by Lady Farrington’s craze. This was her weak point—her monomania, and her madness would soon unmistakeably be betrayed.

‘You shall tell me the whole story, Lady Farrington, but privately, and in your own way. I wish to see her ladyship alone, quite alone.’

Dr. Mayne spoke very quietly; he was an undemonstrative man, of few words, but his manner and tone were one of much determination and authority.

Meanwhile Sir Rupert and Herbert, left to themselves, had exchanged but little conversation. The baronet was preoccupied, and there was a black scowl on his face, which boded ill for any whom his anger could touch. Herbert was silent too. He felt that he had thrown away the scabbard, and was fighting Sir Rupert to the death.

The moments dragged themselves slowly on, till presently Dr. Fewster returned, with many apologies.

‘I am truly grieved to have kept you so long from the object of your visit. The fact is, Dr. Darlington Mayne also wished to see Lady Farrington, and he is at present closeted with her. Till he chooses to end the interview we cannot disturb him, of course.’

It was quite an hour later when Dr. Mayne joined them.

‘These are the poor lady’s friends,’ said the asylum doctor, with much formality. ‘Sir Rupert Farrington, Mr. Herbert Larkins, of the Duke’s Own.’

Dr. Mayne bowed very coldly to Sir Rupert, but put out his hand to Herbert.

‘Our mutual friend, Dr. McCosh, has often spoken to me of you. That was a noble deed of yours, and I am glad to know you, Mr. Larkins.’

‘But Lady Farrington?’ eagerly interposed Herbert, as soon as he civilly could.

‘It is a case of some little difficulty. I am really rather perplexed. Her ladyship is perfectly sane, I think, and rational, except on one point. If I could but obtain some independent testimony on that, I might see my way. She perseveres in asseverating, although she can adduce no proofs, that her son Herbert, whom she has not seen for upwards of five and twenty years, left a son, and that you, Mr. Larkins, are he.’

Herbert replied slowly and with an air of the deepest conviction,

‘She is perfectly right. I am.’

‘Great powers!’ cried Sir Rupert, starting to his feet and foaming with rage. ‘Was there ever such matchless effrontery?’

‘It can be fully substantiated,’ went on Herbert, still perfectly calm.

‘It is a gross and unfounded lie, from beginning to end—a conspiracy, an attempt to defraud.’

‘Of that the law can only judge,’ said Dr. Mayne; ‘but I must confess Mr. Larkins’ assertion so far satisfies my mind that I feel convinced Lady Farrington is not suffering from any hallucination, and I shall recommend her immediate discharge.’

‘You cannot, must not; my life would be in peril,’ expostulated Sir Rupert, still furious, but rather taken aback.

‘My mind is quite made up,’ said the Chancellor’s visitor, authoritatively.

‘And I give you notice,’ went on Herbert, ‘on behalf of Lady Farrington, that Mr. Bellhouse, her solicitor, will forthwith commence an action against you for illegal detention, and will require a full account of all moneys due to her during the time she has been under restraint.’

‘I care nothing for your actions,’ cried Sir Rupert, snapping his fingers, ‘and if I spend my last shilling she shall not go at large.’

But he was compelled to give way. The law was too strong for him, his opponents too full of fight. And that they meant business was clear from an advertisement which appeared everywhere directly after Lady Farrington was set free. It was as follows:—‘5,000l. Reward. To anyone who will give authentic proofs of marriage about 184— between Herbert Farrington, alias Corporal Smith, of the 12th Lancers, and Ann, daughter of Josiah Orde, of Newark-on-Trent.’