Leonard gazed fixedly at Dr. Peterssen, doubting for the moment whether the man was in earnest. There was no doubt of it, however. Dr. Peterssen was speaking the truth.
"I will enlighten you," said Dr. Peterssen, "I am not quite a pretender. I am a doctor with a diploma, and I have practised in all parts of the world. My specialty is diseases of the mind. I do not say I am fond of the study, but when needs must, the devil drives. Returning home--that is, to England, which I look upon as home--chance throws me in the way of a patient with a rich father. The father cannot keep his son at home, and he shrinks from sending him to a regular madhouse. Can he find a capable man who, for a consideration, will take charge of the young man and devote himself to him? I present myself; I am ready to do anything for a consideration. Between ourselves, my diploma is not exactly what it should be, and I could not practise regularly in England; there would be difficulties in my way, there are so many censorious people about. I have no difficulty in convincing the father of my patient that I am what I represent myself to be, and a bargain is struck. The young man, whose name is George Street, is given into my charge, and away we go. One reason that the father wishes to obtain without delay a guardian for his son is that he himself is compelled to leave England for a year or two for his health; another reason is that about twice a year he has a dangerous fit upon him. It lasts for two or three days, and he has to be carefully watched. While the father is absent I have to write to him on the first of every month, acquainting him with the condition of his son. I am to do what I like with the young man, to the extent of indulging in foreign travel for the purpose of diverting his mind. My expenses are paid, but I have to render a strict account, and though I garble them a little I cannot make much out of it. Then I am, like yourself, naturally extravagant, and I am also at heart, I am afraid, a bit of a gambler. I have not been very fortunate hitherto, but my turn will come. In addition to the trifle I make out of cooked accounts--shockingly mild cooking, Leonard, my patient's father being the soul of meanness--I receive three hundred a year. Of course, all my personal expenses are paid, but what can a man do with three hundred a year? It is a miserable pittance. My patient is now asleep; he is perfectly harmless, and he sleeps fifteen hours out of the twenty-four. I have no difficulty with him. He is as tractable as a lamb. 'Get up.' He gets up. 'Come out.' He comes out. 'Read for an hour.' He reads for an hour, or pretends to. 'Sit still till I return.' He sits still till I return. Thus all is plain sailing, and I have nothing to complain of except the salary. However, there is a better prospect before me, perhaps."
Leonard did not respond to the sharp look which Dr. Peterssen gave him. He was revolving things in his mind, groping for a crooked path by which he could reach his goal.
"Well, friend of my heart?" said Dr. Peterssen.
"There is nothing more to be said at present," said Leonard. "It is time for me to join my friends."
"I will go with you."
"We agreed that you were not to intrude upon us."
"I do not intend to. I merely wish to see where you put up. Don't try to give me the slip, Leonard."
"Why should I? You may be of use to me."
They walked together to the little inn in which they had rooms, and there Dr. Peterssen wished Leonard good night.
He was not as good as his word. The next day he contrived that the parties should meet, but he was clever enough to make it appear as if it were an accidental meeting, and Leonard, being to some extent in his power, did not quarrel with him. His patient, George Street, was a quiet young gentleman, whom no person, without foreknowledge, would have supposed to be mad. Upon certain subjects he spoke rationally, but as a rule he was silent and reserved, with the air of one who had some deeply-rooted cause for melancholy. He seemed to fear Dr. Peterssen, and a dog could not have been more obedient to the least motion of its master. He was of about the same age as Gerald, and their statures differed very slightly. In accordance with the advice of Dr. Peterssen, Leonard informed Gerald and Emilia that the young man was not exactly in his right mind, and that they were to be under no apprehension concerning him, as he was as tractable and docile as a child. Emilia conceived a great pity for him, and occasionally walked with him, accompanied by Gerald; for Dr. Peterssen evinced no immediate intention of leaving their society.
"The presence of a lady so gentle as yourself," he said to Emilia, "is good for the poor fellow; he is benefiting by your kindness already."
"He will get well, I hope," said Emilia, solicitously. "There is no doubt of it," said Dr. Peterssen. "In less than twelve months his cure will be perfect."
Some three weeks passed, and they were now in the Engadine, located in a comfortable inn in the valley of Roseg. For some reason of his own which he disclosed to not one of the party, not even to Leonard, Dr. Peterssen gave out that he expected from day to day to be called home by his patient's father, and that he might be compelled to leave them suddenly. His mind was busy with a diabolical scheme, which, however, he might not have succeeded in carrying out had not circumstances favored him. During the time they had been together he had extracted cleverly from one or the other information relating to the positions the step-brothers held toward each other, by which he learnt that the fortune enjoyed by Gerald would revert to Leonard if Gerald were out of the way. Leonard was annoyed by his pertinacious desire for details and particulars, but Dr. Peterssen, with his hand on the plough, never turned back. The fatality which assisted him to the cruel end he had in view was the indisposition of Emilia, who, in the Roseg Valley, exhibited signs of fatigue and depression. The local doctor prescribed rest, and Gerald gave up the mountain excursions which afforded him so much pleasure.
"When you are quite strong," he said to her, "we will return to England." And whispered, "Our child shall be born there."
Emilia, whose head was reclining on his shoulder, kissed him softly, and hid her face in his breast.
"Before we leave these beautiful scenes, my darling," he said, "I shall pluck some edelweiss for you with my own hands. That will insure you good luck all your life."
A woman in one of the villages had told Emilia that purchased edelweiss lost its charm, and that its potency could only be preserved if plucked and presented by the man one loved. Emilia had told this to Gerald, and he had set his heart upon finding the white flower for Emilia. Hitherto he had been unsuccessful. It was no secret between Gerald and Emilia; the whole of the party were acquainted with the wish of the loving couple; and it was this simple and innocent desire which was to bring a woful tragedy into the lives of Gerald and Emilia.
It was afternoon, and Emilia was sitting at the window, gazing upon the wondrous vista of snow mountains which lined the horizon. Gerald came to her with excitement in his face.
"Mr. Street and the doctor are below," he said. "They are going in search of the edelweiss, and they know where it is to be found."
"You wish to go with them," said Emilia, with a smile. "Go, love."
"But you will be alone."
"I shall be very happy and contented, Gerald. Go and pluck me the magic flower with your own dear hands."
How often in after life did these fatal words recur to her. "Go and pluck me the magic flower with your own dear hands!" Ah, if the effect of words were known before they were uttered, how many breaking hearts would at this moment be filled with happiness!
"I may not have another opportunity," said Gerald. "I shall be home before sunset. Good-by, dear love. God bless you!"
He was gone, and Emilia waved her handkerchief to him from the window. He looked back and smiled, and waved his hand gayly, and soon was lost to sight. "My darling!" she murmured, and leaned back in her chair, and thought with ineffable bliss of the time soon to come when she would hold out her babe to him for a father's kiss. One arm rested upon a table which Gerald had drawn close to her side. Upon the table was a............