IV.

One morning in the following June I was
awoke at about half-past six o'clock, by a
peculiarly sharp ring at my professional door-bell.
I had been up all night with a patient in
dangerous circumstanaces, and had scarcely been
asleep a couple of hours; but I could not be
insensible to the shrill urgency of that appeal.
I was wide awake in a moment. There was a
short pause, a muttered colloquy between my
housemaid and some one else; she knocked at
my door (I slept on the ground floor), and, opening
it, showed a pale and startled countenance.

"Sir! sir!" she said, in hurried tones,
"Arthur Bentmore is come for you directly—a
dreadful thing! the butler at Lady Fetherstone's
has destroyed himself!"

I was soon at the scene of the catastrophe. I
found a policeman already there in charge of the
body, and, perceiving at once that life had been
extinct some hours, I lost no time in going up to
the lady. She had recovered from her swoon, out
was in a fearful state of nervous excitement, and
for some time it was unsafe to leave her; for
the shock seemed to have partially unsettled her
reason. After a while, however, the remedies I
employed began to produce the desired effect,
and I had the satisfaction of seeing her at last
gradually sinking to sleep, with her hand
clasped in that of Arthur's former mistress, Mrs.
Sullivan.

The scene in that house was a shocking one
to witness. The mother and sister of the
suicide hung over his mangled remains with
tears and groans of anguish; whilst the servants
of the establishment, distracted at the tragical
end of one with whom they had lived in daily
companionship, were totally unable to afford
them any comfort.

The cause of the catastrophe was soon but
too clear. The misguided man was known to have
been long in the habit of betting; and it came
out, through a friend who had chanced to call at
the house, unaware of what had happened, that
he had lost so large a sum the previous day at
the Derby, as to make it easy to understand
that he dared not face the ruin such a debt
must bring upon him.

I was in and out of Lady Fetherstone's house
constantly that day. Her staunch friends,
Admiral and Mrs. Sullivan, insisted upon it. Thus
I had ample opportunity of observing the
conduct of Arthur, under circumstances not a little
trying to one so young. Of all the inmates of
that house, he was the only one who seemed to
retain composure, or common sense, Nothing
tends to re-settle nerves that have been
unusually excited—especially servants' nerves—so
much as the sight of a calm and matter-of-fact
attention to the small duties of life. Mrs.
Cook began by taking no notice of what Jeames
about, and continuing her spasmodic heavings
and groanings; but after a little she could
not resist watching to see how he did what she
ought to have been doing: from watching she
got to correction and advice; and finally she
condescendingly approached, and began to rectify
his errors. When I entered the kitchen to
prescribe for her—having been informed by the
under housemaid that she was at the point of
death—I found her wit h a very red face, in the
midst of an animated argument with Jeames as
to the proper management of gravy.

When the latter was interrogated as to the
butler's habits of life, some curious particulars
came out. It appeared that the man never did
anything in the nouse except wait at table, and
occasionally open the door in the absence of the
footman. He was very rarely at home; often,
spending entire nights out, and returning about
six in the morning, when he was always let in by
Arthur, who, summer and winter, rose at, five.
When pressed as to his own reasons for rising
so early, he hesitated at first; but at length
replied that he always occupied himself about
his own affairs before six o'clock, when he
considered his day's work for the family ought
to begin. Did his mistress know of her butler's
proceedings? He could not say. Mr. Jacobs
(the butler) had a key of the house door. He
had mentioned to him that he did not wish to
have this spoken of, as it might occasion
unpleasantness; and he should be sorry to lose
the convenience.

Was he aware of Mr. Jacobs's practice of
betting? He was. Had he ever been induced
himself to do the like? No answer; and the
question was, after a little discussion, withdrawn.
Had he had any suspicion of the butler's losses
at Epsom? He had had.

But, in spite of the quiet and self-possessed
manner in which Arthur had given his evidence,
and its undoubted truthfulness, there was yet
something about him which (although I should
have been at a loss to define it) occasioned in
my mind not only an uncomfortable impression
that he knew much more than he chose to divulge
of the butler's affairs, but that he was also, to
a certain extent, a participator in the practice
that had led to so fearful a result. I could
hardly explain, even to myself, why I was
convinced of this; but my impression grew in.
strength, the more I saw of, and conversed with
him. He did not indeed deny, though he never
positively admitted, that he had betted; but
many little circumstances that I not only
observed now, but remembered to have noticed
since his removal to Lady Fetherstone's
(amongst others, a remarkable shabbiness in
such articles of his attire as he had to purchase
himself), tended to convince me that he had
been led to indulge in this dangerous practice,
and was greatly straitened in means in
consequence.

I had much serious talk with him at that
time; speaking with an earnest authority which
I felt our mutual relations not only warranted,
but called for. But although he listened with
respectful attention, and an appearance of being
impressed by what I said; and although he once
voluntarily promised me never to bet in future
(he did not say again); he was still silent and
uncommunicative, and therefore, to a certain
degree, unsatisfactory.