Was there any family reason against her
saying Yes? Anything that I must not
inquire into? Any opposition to be dreaded
from her father?

The moment I mentioned her father, she
shrank away from me, and burst into a
violent fit of crying.

"Don't speak of it again!" she said in a
broken voice. "I mustn't—you mustn't—O,
don't, don't say a word more about it! I'm
not distressed with you—it is not your fault.
Don't say anything—leave me quiet for a
minute. I shall soon be better if you leave
me quiet."

She dried her eyes directly, with a shiver
as if it was cold, and took my arm. I led
her back to the house-gate; and then, feeling
that I could not go in to lunch as usual,
after what had happened, said I would return
to the fishing-place.

"Shall I come to dinner this evening ?" I
asked, as I rang the gate-bell for her.

"Oh, yes—yes!—do come, or he——"

The mysterious man-servant opened the
door, and we parted before she could say the
next words.

I went back to the fishing-place with a
heavy heart, overcome by mournful thoughts,
for the first time in my life. It was plain
that she did not dislike me, and equally plain
that there was some obstacle connected with
her father, which forbade her to listen to my
offer of marriage. From the time when
she had accidentally looked towards the red-
brick house, something in her manner which
it is quite impossible to describe, had
suggested to my mind that this obstacle was
not only something she could not mention,
but something that she was partly ashamed
of, partly afraid of, and partly doubtful about.
What could it be? How had she first known
it? In what way was her father connected
with it?

In the course of our walks she had told me
nothing about herself which was not perfectly
simple and unsuggestive. Her mother had
died when she was about fourteen years old.
While she was growing up she lived with her
father and mother at Paris, where the doctor
had many friends—for all of whom she
remembered feeling more or less dislike,
without being able to tell why. They had then
come to England, had lived in lodgings in
London, and had removed to their present
abode after her mother's death, taking a whole
house to themselves, to give the doctor full
accommodation for the carrying on of his
scientific pursuits. He often had occasion to
go to London; but never took her with him.
The only woman at home now, besides
herself, was an elderly person, who acted as cook
and housekeeper, and who had been in their
service for many years. It was very lonely
sometimes not having a companion of her own
age and sex; but she had got tolerably used
to bear it, and to amuse herself with her
books, and music, and flowers. Thus far she
chatted about herself quite freely; but when
I tried, even in the vaguest manner, to lead her
into discussing the causes of her strangely-
secluded life, she looked so distressed, and
became so suddenly silent, that I naturally
refrained from saying another word on that
topic. One conclusion, however, I felt
tolerably sure that I had drawn correctly from
what she said: her father's conduct towards
her, though not absolutely blameable or
grossly neglectful on any point, had still never
been of a nature to make her ardently fond of
him. He performed the ordinary parental
duties rigidly and respectably enough; but
he had apparently not cared to win all the
filial love which his daughter would have
bestowed on a more affectionate man.

When, after reflecting on what Laura had
told me, I began to call to mind what I had
been able to observe for myself, I found
ample materials to excite my curiosity in
relation to the doctor, if not my distrust.
I have already described how I heard the
clang of the heavy door, on the occasion of
my first visit to the red-brick house. The
next day, when the doctor again took leave
of me in the hall, I hit on a plan for seeing
the door as well as hearing it. I dawdled on
my way out, till I heard the clang again;
then pretended to remember some important
message which I had forgotten, to give to the
doctor, and with a look of innocent hurry
ran upstairs to overtake him. The disguised
workman ran after me with a shout of "stop."
I was conveniently deaf to him—reached the
first floor landing—and arrived at a door which
shut off the whole staircase higher up; an
iron door, as solid as if it belonged to a
banker's strong room, and guarded millions of
money. I returned to the hall, inattentive to
the servant's not over-civil remonstrances,
and, saying that I would wait till I saw the
doctor again, left the house. The next day
two pale-looking men, in artisan costume,
came up to the gate at the same time as I
did; each carrying a long wooden box under
his aim, strongly bound with iron. I tried
to make them talk, while we were waiting
for admission, but neither of them would go
beyond Yes, or No; and both had, to my
eye, some unmistakeably sinister lines in their
faces. The next day the housekeeping cook
came to the door—a buxom old woman with
a bold look, and a ready smile, and something
in her manner which suggested that she had
not begun life quite so respectably as she was
now ending it. She seemed to be decidedly
satisfied with my personal appearance;
talked to me on indifferent matters with
great glibness and satisfaction, but suddenly
became silent and diplomatic the moment I
looked toward the stairs and asked innocently
if she had to go up and down them often in
the course of the day. As for the doctor
himself, he was unapproachable on the
subject of the mysterious upper regions. If I
introduced chemistry in general into the