In the morning he felt better, and was much happier about himself. He absolutely refused to let me send for Sir Henry Thompson, and, sitting up in bed after a good breakfast, smoked a cigar while he wrote notes for a speech. During his last absence I had bought a large engraving of Lord Leighton's picture "Wedded," and, seeing this hanging in the room, he made me bring it and put it up at the foot of the bed for him to see. He was very much amused at the muscular young couple in the picture, and waving his cigar at it said: "We are a fine pair, Wifie; hang us up where I can look at us." I had ready for him to sign an agreement to rent a house near Merstham, Surrey, that we had arranged to take so that he could get to London more quickly, and have a change from the sea. It was a pretty little country house, and he had taken great interest in it. I would not let him sign it now, or do any business, but he made me read the agreement over to him, and said that part of our real "honeymoon" should be spent there. He later insisted upon writing to his solicitor (his brother-in-law, Mr. MacDermott) about a mortgage he was raising on his estate, as he wished to have the matter completed quickly. (It was not completed, owing to his death.) On Sunday he was not so well, but insisted that what he had written to Sir Henry Thompson was enough, as he would answer at once. My persistence seemed to fret him so much that I desisted, and told him that I had sent for a local doctor, as I could not bear to be without advice about the pain. He was a good patient in one way, scrupulously {330} following his doctor's directions, but in another a very difficult patient, as he was so very easily depressed about himself, all the fatalism that was natural to him tending to overcome his immense desire for health. A short talk with the doctor who saw him seemed to inspire him with confidence, and he said he felt better. That night (Sunday) he did not sleep, and this worried him a great deal, as he had a superstition that if he did not sleep for two consecutive nights he would die. I tried at first to reason him out of this idea, but he said he had always "felt" this, and had never before failed to sleep. I besought him to let me telegraph for Sir Henry Thompson now, but he would not allow it, and became so feverish at the idea that I did not press the point, though I determined to consult the doctor in attendance about this in the morning. Towards morning he became very feverish, and it was difficult to keep his skin in the perspiration that he desired.