What Came Afterwards CHAPTER 19.

The first concern of Doctor Hofland was to ascertain, with all possible exactness, the mental condition of his patient. It was after midnight, when he sat down, alone, with him, in a chamber luxuriantly furnished in comparison with anything Adam Guyton had seen for over ten desolate years; a chamber that could not fail to bring back a vivid remembrance of the past. "You are safe here," said the Doctor, with a kind assurance. "Call this room your own, and occupy it as long as you please."

He gazed earnestly into the changed face of his old friend, trying to recall former looks and features; but the search baffled him. Adam Guyton, if living, would not be over fifty-four years of age; this person seemed not less than seventy. Doubts crept in, stealthily.

"Call this my room — my room?" With a bewildered look, the man let his eyes wander around the room. "It's a long time since I called such a room mine. Ah, well!" He sighed deeply, dropped his eyes to the floor, and seemed to lose himself.

"You find me very much changed, Doctor," he said, looking up in a few moments, and speaking with the quiet composure of a self-possessed mind. "Would you have known me if you had met me on the street?"

"I think not."

He let his eyes fall again, shook his head, and seemed to have troubled thoughts.

"I'm very much hurt here, Doctor — very much," and he laid his hand on his forehead. "Very much," he repeated. Do you think I'll ever come right again?"

There was a mournfulness in Mr. Guyton's voice, as he put the question, which touched Doctor Hofland.

"Why not?" was asked, in an assuring voice. "The past is past. You are free again."

"But, am I altogether safe, Doctor? Won't they find me out here?"

"You have all the power of the law on your side, and woe be to him who attempts anything against you. Yes, Mr. Guyton, you are altogether safe; that is, if you will be discreet, and let the judgment of your friends determine what is best for the present."

"Discreet? How? What?" The thin brows knitted themselves. He looked puzzled.

"It is now late, Mr. Guyton — past midnight," said Doctor Hofland. "Both of us need rest and sleep. In the morning we will have a long talk, and see what is best to be done. If, as you say, you are hurt here" — and the Doctor touched his forehead — "our first concern must be to cure that hurt. It can be done; but everything will depend on your giving yourself up to me, as your physician, and strictly following the rules I shall lay down. Tonight there must be sleep. Compose your mind. Try to forget the past and its wrongs — in a spirit of thankfulness to God who has wrought out for you a great deliverance; and who will do for you still better things, if you will look to Him, and trust in Him."

"I prayed God to help me," said the poor old man. "I prayed all last night. I never prayed before. Do you think He heard me?"

"His ears are always open to the cries of His children. Yes, He heard you."

"And sent me this deliverance?"

"All good is from His hands. Keep that ever in your thought, and so always look to Him and trust in Him. He is the Great Physician, and will cure the hurt of which you complained just now. Good-night! May His peace be with you."

The Doctor moved to retire.

"His peace — His peace." The thought seemed new to Mr. Guyton, as evidenced in his repetition of this part of Doctor Hofland's concluding sentence.

"Yes, His peace, which flows like a river," said the Doctor. Then added, as a suggestion came into his mind, taking up a book as he spoke, "Let me read you one of the Psalms of David. It will compose your mind." And he read aloud the fifty-sixth Psalm. Mr. Guyton listened with an absorbed attention.

"If sleep does not come quickly, recall the words of this Psalm, and let them dwell in your thoughts." The Doctor closed the volume, and repeating his "good night," went out. In the passage, near the chamber door, he found Mr. Joyce, who had, by arrangement, remained within reach. A room adjoining the one occupied by Mr. Guyton, and joining therewith, was assigned to the officer, and all needed precautions observed.

The night passed without further incident. Mr. Guyton went to bed on the withdrawal of Doctor Hofland, and was soon fast asleep, not awaking till long after daylight. He was then supplied with suitable clothing, and at his own request, a barber was sent for, to remove his long white beard. There was considerable change in him, as compared with his condition on the night before. His eyes had lost their glitter, and were dull. He showed no excitement of manner, and but little interest in things around him. The bow, tensely strung so long, was now for a time unbent.

For prudential reasons, Doctor Hofland thought it best to conceal from his own family, except his wife and son-in-law, the real name of the person he had received into his house. At an early hour, he called on the Mayor. Both men had thought, with much concern, over the difficult questions involved in the case of Mr. Guyton. If he were really the man he represented himself to be — and they had few doubts on this head — crime had been committed, and justice must have way. When to act and how to act, were things not so easily determined. The decision was, to wait for a brief period — in the meantime, securing for Adam Guyton everything needed for his comfort and restoration to mental health. Mr. Larobe was to be closely observed, and his appearance and movements noted from day to day.

Returning home, after this conference, Doctor Hofland found his wife in much concern about their guest.

"He isn't at all in his right mind," she said; "I can't make anything out of him."

"Has there been any change since I left?"

"Yes."

"Of what kind?"

"He seems entirely lost. If you speak to him, he answers vaguely.

"Where is he?"

"Sitting in the parlor, and as still as one asleep."

Doctor Hofland went into the parlor, and found Mr. Guyton, as his wife had represented him, reclining in an easy chair. His eyes were open; but there was no thought in them.

"How are you now?" said the Doctor, in a cheerful voice, as he drew a chair and sat down beside him.

"Oh! ah! it's you, Doctor?" A faint gleam of intelligence lit up Guyton's dull face.

"Yes, it's me. How do you feel now?"

"What did you say?" Thought, startled from leaden sleep, was folding back its wings again.

"Yes, I'm Doctor Hofland."

"Oh! ah! Doctor — " The sentence died out in partial utterance.

No effort to arouse Mr. Guyton brought him nearer to rational consciousness than this; and Doctor Hofland, after spending an hour in observation and study of his condition, was forced to the conclusion that reason had, for the time, at least, passed under an almost total eclipse. Such being the case, it was necessary to have him in charge of a constant attendant. This duty was, for the day, and until better arrangements could be made, assigned to a colored waiter, whose instructions were on no account to leave him.

From this time until two o'clock, Doctor Hofland was absent among his patients. On returning home, he found no change in Mr. Guyton. He was sitting where he left him, apparently unconscious of external things. Dinner being announced, he allowed himself to be taken to the table, where he ate sparingly, finishing his meal before the others were half done. This change partially aroused him, and several times the Doctor noticed a look of curious inquiry in his countenance, as he glanced, almost stealthily, from face to face, around the table. But, after dinner, the former stupor returned, and did not pass off during the day.

The position in which Doctor Hofland found himself was one of great delicacy. At first, on reflection, this course seemed plain — To bring the facts in his possession to the knowledge of Henry Guyton, and place his father at his disposal, thus relieving himself from all care or responsibility in the matter. But, the longer he pondered this course, the more did objections multiply themselves. He had no faith in the humanity of Henry Guyton. By inheritance, he had received from his father, an all-absorbing love of money, which had become a god, on whose altars he was ever ready to lay the most precious things in sacrifice. No gain could arise to him from his father's reappearance on the stage of life. Loss, in all probability, would ensue; for the will, by which a portion of the estate had been divided to him, must fall. In this view, the Doctor did not wrong him, when he doubted and hesitated. It would be the interest of Henry Guyton, to assume that the man claiming to be his father was an imposter; and, therefore, instead of searching for evidence in favor of the claim, he would most likely collude with Mr. Larobe for the production of proofs on the other side. Moreover, if his father were given up to him in his present mental stupor, he would be placed in an asylum, and might again come under the power of Mr. Larobe and his evil wife, whose stake in the case was highest of all, and who, if they lost in the desperate game they were playing, lost everything.

The more Doctor Hofland dwelt on this latter view, the less inclined was he to let the poor wreck in his hands pass beyond all possible control.

"In God's providence," he said in his thought, "the guardianship has been committed to me; and, as things are, I cannot see that it would be right to pass it to another. To give him over to them as he now is, would be, in my opinion, little less than abandoning a lamb to the wolves! He is in no condition to prove his identity, and I have not the clue by which the mystery of this wrong may be surely unraveled."

This opinion of the case strengthened, the longer it was dwelt upon, and the final determination of Doctor Hofland, after further conference with the Mayor, was to let everything rest, until some change in Mr. Guyton's mental condition, or some movement on the part of Mr. and Mrs. Larobe, made action necessary. In the meantime, the restoration of Mr. Guyton's darkened reason was to be the chief object in view, so far as he was concerned.

And now let us return to Mr. and Mrs. Larobe, whom we left shuddering in the face of a dreaded retribution.

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