This appeared to me to be a most imprudent thing to do.  I said so plainly—­and quite in vain.  With his customary impetuosity, he wrote the letter at once, and sent it to the post that night.

X.

ON the question of submitting himself to medical advice (which I now earnestly pressed upon him), Romayne was disposed to be equally unreasonable.  But in this case, events declared themselves in my favor.

Lady Berrick’s last reserves of strength had given way.  She had been brought to London in a dying state while we were at Vange Abbey.  Romayne was summoned to his aunt’s bedside on the third day of our residence at the hotel, and was present at her death.  The impression produced on his mind roused the better part of his nature.  He was more distrustful of himself, more accessible to persuasion than usual.  In this gentler frame of mind he received a welcome visit from an old friend, to whom he was sincerely attached.  The visit—­of no great importance in itself—­led, as I have since been informed, to very serious events in Romayne’s later life.  For this reason, I briefly relate what took place within my own healing.

Lord Loring—­well known in society as the head of an old English Catholic family, and the possessor of a magnificent gallery of pictures—­was distressed by the change for the worse which he perceived in Romayne when he called at the hotel.  I was present when they met, and rose to leave the room, feeling that the two friends might perhaps be embarrassed by the presence of a third person.  Romayne called me back.  “Lord Loring ought to know what has happened to me,” he said.  “I have no heart to speak of it myself.  Tell him everything, and if he agrees with you, I will submit to see the doctors.”  With those words he left us together.

It is almost needless to say that Lord Loring did agree with me.  He was himself disposed to think that the moral remedy, in Romayne’s case, might prove to be the best remedy.

“With submission to what the doctors may decide,” his lordship said, “the right thing to do, in my opinion, is to divert our friend’s mind from himself.  I see a plain necessity for making a complete change in the solitary life that he has been leading for years past.  Why shouldn’t he marry?  A woman’s influence, by merely giving a new turn to his thoughts, might charm away that horrible voice which haunts him.  Perhaps you think this a merely sentimental view of the case?  Look at it practically, if you like, and you come to the same conclusion.  With that fine estate—­and with the fortune which he has now inherited from his aunt—­it is his duty to marry.  Don’t you agree with me?”

“I agree most cordially.  But I see serious difficulties in your lordship’s way.  Romayne dislikes society; and, as to marrying, his coldness toward women seems (so far as I can judge) to be one of the incurable defects of his character.”