He
delicately inquired if Timothy had ever noticed anything of the sort
in his wife during her lifetime; he, the physician, had fancied that
he discerned germs of the same peculiarity in Annetta when he
attended her in her girlhood. One explanation begat another, till
the dumbfoundered Timothy Petrick was persuaded in his own mind that
Annetta's confession to him had been based on a delusion.
'You look down in the mouth?' said the doctor, pausing.
'A bit unmanned. 'Tis unexpected-like,' sighed Timothy.
But he could hardly believe it possible; and, thinking it best to be
frank with the doctor, told him the whole story which, till now, he
had never related to living man, save his dying grandfather. To his
surprise, the physician informed him that such a form of delusion
was precisely what he would have expected from Annetta's antecedents
at such a physical crisis in her life.
Petrick prosecuted his inquiries elsewhere; and the upshot of his
labours was, briefly, that a comparison of dates and places showed
irrefutably that his poor wife's assertion could not possibly have
foundation in fact. The young Marquis of her tender passion--a
highly moral and bright-minded nobleman--had gone abroad the year
before Annetta's marriage, and had not returned till after her
death. The young girl's love for him had been a delicate ideal
dream--no more.
Timothy went home, and the boy ran out to meet him; whereupon a
strangely dismal feeling of discontent took possession of his soul.
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