“Yes; a fellow who said he was her father, and who behaved like a madman.  He came here about an hour after she had left, and wouldn’t believe that we knew nothing about her (how the deuce should we know anything!) He threatened Turner (whom, by the bye, he called Manning, or some such name) in such an outrageous manner, that we were obliged to refuse him admission.  Turner himself will give no information on the subject; but I suspect that his injuries are the result of a quarrel with the father about the daughter—­a pretty savage quarrel, I must say, looking to the consequences—­I beg your pardon, but your brother seems ill!  I’m afraid,” (turning to me), “you find the room rather close?”

“No, indeed; not at all.  I have just recovered from a serious illness—­but pray go on.”

“I have very little more to say.  The father went away in a fury, just as he came; the daughter has not yet made her appearance a second time.  But, after what was reported to me of the first interview, I daresay she will come.  She must, if she wants to see Turner; he won’t be out, I suspect, for another fortnight.  He has been making himself worse by perpetually writing letters; we were rather afraid of erysipelas, but he’ll get over that danger, I think.”

“About the woman,” said Ralph; “it is of the greatest importance that we should know where she is now living.  Is there any possibility (we will pay well for it) of getting some sharp fellow to follow her home from this place, the next time she comes here?”

Mr. Bernard hesitated a moment, and considered.

“I think I can manage it for you with the porter, after you are gone,” he said, “provided you leave me free to give any remuneration I may think necessary.”

“Anything in the world, my dear fellow.  Have you got pen and ink?  I’ll write down my brother’s address; you can communicate results to him, as soon as they occur.”

While Mr. Bernard went to the opposite end of the room, in search of writing materials, Ralph whispered to me—­

“If he wrote to my address, Mrs. Ralph might see the letter.  She is the most amiable of her sex; but if written information of a woman’s residence, directed to me, fell into her hands—­you understand, Basil!  Besides, it will be easy to let me know, the moment you hear from Jack.  Look up, young one!  It’s all right—­we are sailing with wind and tide.”

Here Mr. Bernard brought us pen and ink.  While Ralph was writing my address, his friend said to me: 

“I hope you will not suspect me of wishing to intrude on your secrets, if (assuming your interest in Turner to be the reverse of a friendly interest) I warn you to look sharply after him when he leaves the hospital.  Either there has been madness in his family, or his brain has suffered from his external injuries.  Legally, he may be quite fit to be at large; for he will be able to maintain the appearance of perfect self-possession in all the ordinary affairs of life.  But, morally, I am convinced that he is a dangerous monomaniac; his mania being connected with some fixed idea which evidently never leaves him day or night.  I would lay a heavy wager that he dies in a prison or a madhouse.”