“Lady Bassett, whatever may be your husband's condition--whether his illness is mental or bodily, or a mixture of the two--his clandestine examination by bought physicians, and his violent capture, the natural effect of which must have been to excite him and retard his cure, were wicked and barbarous acts, contrary to God's law and the common law of England, and, indeed, to all human law except our shallow, incautious Statutes de Lunatico: they were an insult to yourself, who ought at least to have been consulted, for your rights are higher and purer than Richard Bassett's; therefore, as a wife bereaved of your husband by fraud and violence and the bare letter of a paltry statute whose spirit has been violated, you are quite justified in coming to me or to any public man you think can help your husband and you.” Then, with a certain _bonhomie,_ “So lay aside your nervousness; let us go into this matter sensibly, like a big man and a little man, or like an old woman and a young woman, whichever you prefer.” Lady Bassett looked at him and smiled assent. She felt a great deal more at her ease after this opening. “I dare not advise you yet. I must know more than Mr. Angelo has told me. Will you answer my questions frankly?” “I will try, sir.” “Whose idea was it confining Sir Charles Bassett to the house so much?” “His own. He felt himself unfit for society.” “Did he describe his ailment to you then?” “Yes.” “All the better; what did he say?” “He said that, at times, a cloud seemed to come into his head, and then he lost all power of mind; and he could not bear to be seen in that condition.” “This was after the epileptic seizure?” “Yes, sir.” “Humph! Now will you tell me how Mr. Bassett, by mere words, could so enrage Sir Charles as to give him a fit?” Lady Bassett hesitated. “What did he say to Sir Charles?” “He did not speak to him. His child and nurse were there, and he called out loud, for Sir Charles to hear, and told the nurse to hold up his child to look at his inheritance.” “Malicious fool! But did this enrage Sir Charles so much as to give him a fit?” “Yes.” “He must be very sensitive.” “On that subject.” Mr. Rolfe was silent; and now, for the first time, appeared to think intently. His study bore fruit, apparently; for he turned to Lady Bassett and said, suddenly, “What is the strangest thing Sir Charles has said of late--the very strangest?” Lady Bassett turned red, and then pale, and made no reply. Mr. Rolfe rose and walked up to Mary Wells. “What is the maddest thing your master has ever said?” Mary Wells, instead of replying, looked at her mistress. The writer instantly put his great body between them. “Come, none of that,” said he. “I don't want a falsehood--I want the truth.” “La, sir, I don't know. My master he is not mad, I'm sure. The queerest thing he ever said was--he did say at one time 'twas writ on his face as he had no children.” “Ah! And that is why he would not go abroad, perhaps.”