"She has escaped from my Asylum!"
I cannot say with truth that the terrible inference which
those words suggested flashed upon me like a new revelation.
Some of the strange questions put to me by the woman in
white, after my ill-considered promise to leave her free to act
as she pleased, had suggested the conclusion either that she
was naturally flighty and unsettled, or that some recent shock
of terror had disturbed the balance of her faculties. But the
idea of absolute insanity which we all associate with the very
name of an Asylum, had, I can honestly declare, never occurred to me, in connection with her. I had seen nothing, in her
language or her actions, to justify it at the time; and even with
the new light thrown on her by the words which the stranger
had addressed to the policeman, I could see nothing to justify it
now.
What had I done? Assisted the victim of the most horrible of
all false imprisonments to escape; or cast loose on the wide
world of London an unfortunate creature, whose actions it was
my duty, and every man's duty, mercifully to control? I turned
sick at heart when the question occurred to me, and when I felt
self-reproachfully that it was asked too late.
In the disturbed state of my mind, it was useless to think of
going to bed, when I at last got back to my chambers in
Clement's Inn. Before many hours elapsed it would be necessary to start on my journey to Cumberland. I sat down and
tried, first to sketch, then to read—but the woman in white got
between me and my pencil, between me and my book. Had the
forlorn creature come to any harm? That was my first thought,
though I shrank selfishly from confronting it. Other thoughts
followed, on which it was less harrowing to dwell. Where had
she stopped the cab? What had become of her now? Had she
been traced and captured by the men in the chaise? Or was she
still capable of controlling her own actions; and were we two
following our widely parted roads towards one point in the
mysterious future, at which we were to meet once more?
It was a relief when the hour came to lock my door, to bid
farewell to London pursuits, London pupils, and London
friends, and to be in movement again towards new interests
and a new life. Even the bustle and confusion at the railway
terminus, so wearisome and bewildering at other times, roused
me and did me good.
My travelling instructions directed me to go to Carlisle, and
then to diverge by a branch railway which ran in the direction
of the coast. As a misfortune to begin with, our engine broke
down between Lancaster and Carlisle. The delay occasioned by
this accident caused me to be too late for the branch train, by
which I was to have gone on immediately. I had to wait some
hours; and when a later train finally deposited me at the
nearest station to Limmeridge House, it was past ten, and the
night was so dark that I could hardly see my way to the ponychaise which Mr. Fairlie had ordered to be in waiting for me.
The driver was evidently discomposed by the lateness of my
arrival. He was in that state of highly respectful sulkiness
which is peculiar to English servants. We drove away slowly
through the darkness in perfect silence. The roads were bad,
and the dense obscurity of the night increased the difficulty of
getting over the ground quickly. It was, by my watch, nearly an
hour and a half from the time of our leaving the station before I
heard the sound of the sea in the distance, and the crunch of
our wheels on a smooth gravel drive. We had passed one gate
before entering the drive, and we passed another before we
drew up at the house. I was received by a solemn man-servant
out of livery, was informed that the family had retired for the
night, and was then led into a large and lofty room where my
supper was awaiting me, in a forlorn manner, at one extremity
of a lonesome mahogany wilderness of dining-table.
I was too tired and out of spirits to eat or drink much, especially with the solemn servant waiting on me as elaborately as
if a small dinner party had arrived at the house instead of a solitary man. In a quarter of an hour I was ready to be taken up to
my bedchamber. The solemn servant conducted me into a prettily furnished room—said, "Breakfast at nine o'clock,
sir"—looked all round him to see that everything was in its
proper place, and noiselessly withdrew.
"What shall I see in my dreams to-night?" I thought to myself,
as I put out the candle; "the woman in white? or the unknown
inhabitants of this Cumberland mansion?" It was a strange
sensation to be sleeping in the house, like a friend of the family, and yet not to know one of the inmates, even by sight!