Sampson went on to say that he believed the poor man had gone flourishing a razor; and Mrs. Dodd had said, “Yes, kill me, David: kill the mother of your children,” and never moved: which feminine, or in other words irrational, behaviour had somehow disarmed him. But it would not happen again: his sister had come; a sensible, resolute woman. She had signed the order, and Osmond and he the certificates, and he was gone to a private asylum. “Talking of that,” said Sampson, rising suddenly, “I must go and give them a word of comfort; for they are just breaking their hearts at parting with him, poor things. I'll be back in an hour.” On his departure, Jane returned and made the tea in the dining-room: they lived like that now. Mr. Hardie took it from his favourite's lithe white hand, and smiled on her: he should not have to go to a foreign land after all: who would believe a madman if he should rave about his thousands? He sipped his tea luxuriously, and presently delivered himself thus, with bland self-satisfaction:-- “My dear Alfred, some time ago you wished to marry a young lady without fortune. You thought that I had a large one; and you expected me to supply all deficiencies. You did not overrate my parental feeling, but you did my means. I would have done this for you, and with pleasure, but for my own coming misfortunes. As it was, I said 'No,' and when you demanded, somewhat peremptorily, my reasons, I said 'Trust me.' Well, you see I was right: such a marriage would have been your utter ruin. However, I conclude, after what Dr. Sampson has told us, you have resigned it on other grounds. Jane, my dear, Captain Dodd, I am sorry to say, is afflicted. He has gone mad.” “Gone mad?! Oh, how shocking! What will become of his poor children?” She thought of Edward first. “We have just heard it from Sampson. And I presume, Alfred, you are not so far gone as to insist on propagating insanity by a marriage with his daughter.” At this conclusion, which struck her obliquely, though aimed at Alfred, Jane sighed gently, and her dream of earthly happiness seemed to melt away. But Alfred ground his teeth, and replied with great bitterness and emotion: “I think, sir, you are the last man who ought to congratulate yourself on the affliction that has fallen on that unhappy family I aspire to enter, all the more that now they have calamities for me to share----” “More fool you,” put in Mr. Hardie calmly. “--For I much fear you are one of the causes of that calamity.” Mr. Hardie assumed a puzzled air. “I don't see how that can be: do you, Jenny? Sampson told us the causes: a wound on the head, a wound in the arm, bleeding, cupping, &c.” “There may be other causes Dr. Sampson has not been told of--yet” “Possibly. I really don't know what you allude to.” The son fixed his eyes on the father, and leaned across the table to him, till their faces nearly met. “The fourteen thousand pounds, sir.” CHAPTER XXV