When Maxwell came and took him by the arm he obeyed stupidly, and went with his friend, not moving with any will of his own, but only because the other moved him; making no ‘scene’ or terrible demonstrations of misery. Maxwell led him downstairs holding him by the arm, as if he had been made of wood, and took him to the library, and thrust him into a chair, still in the same passive state. It was quite dark there, and Cara, roused from her partial trance of watching at the window, stumbled down from her chair at the sight of them, with a cry of alarm, yet relief, for the lamps outside had beguiled the child, and kept her from perceiving how dark it had grown till she turned round. No one had thought of bringing in the lamp, of lighting the candles, or any of the common offices of life in that house where Death had so suddenly set up his seat. The doctor rang the bell and ordered lights and wine. He began to fear for James: his own mind was agitated with doubts, and a mingled severity and sympathy. He felt that whatever had happened he must find it out; but, whatever had happened, how could he do less than feel the sentiment of a brother for his friend? He did not take much notice of the child, but stooped and kissed her, being the friend of the house, and bade her go to her nurse in a softened tender tone. But he scarcely remarked that Cara did not go. Poor child, who had lost her mother! but his pity for her was of a secondary kind. It was the man whom he had to think of--who had done it, perhaps--who, perhaps, was his wife’s innocent murderer--yet whom, nevertheless, this good man felt his heart yearn and melt over. When the frightened servant came in, with red eyes, bringing the wine, Maxwell poured out some for the chief sufferer, who sat motionless where he had placed him, saying nothing. It was necessary to rouse him one way or other from this stupefaction of pain. ‘Beresford,’ he said curtly, ‘listen to me; we must understand each other. It is you who have done this? Be frank with me--be open. It is either you or she herself. I have never met with such a case before; but I am not the man to be hard upon you. Beresford! James! think, my dear fellow, think; we were boys together; you can’t suppose I’ll he hard on you.’ ‘She asked me--she begged of me,’ said Beresford, slowly. ‘Maxwell, you are clever, you can do wonders.’ ‘I can’t bring those back that have gone--_there_,’ said the doctor, a sudden spasm coming in his throat. ‘Don’t speak of the impossible. Clever--God knows! miserable bunglers, that is what we are, knowing nothing. James! I won’t blame you; I would have done it myself in your place. Speak out; you need not have any reserves from me.’ ‘It isn’t that. Maxwell, look here; they’ve spirited my wife away, and put _that_ in her place.’ ‘God! he’s going mad,’ said the doctor, feeling his own head buzz and swim.