His manner was in itself a standing protest against such a nickname as "Mad Monkton." He was so shy, so quiet, so composed and gentle in all his actions, that at times I should have been almost inclined to call him effeminate.We had a long talk together on the first evening of our meeting; we often saw each other afterward, and never lost a single opportunity of bettering our acquaintance.I felt that he had taken a liking to me, and, in spite of what I had heard about his behavior to Miss Elmslie, in spite of the suspicions which the history of his family and his own conduct had arrayed against him, I began to like "Mad Monkton" as much as he liked me.We took many a quiet ride together in the country, and sailed often along the shores of the Bay on either side.But for two eccentricities in his conduct, which I could not at all understand, I should soon have felt as much at my ease in his society as if he had been my own brother.
The first of these eccentricities consisted in the reappearance on several occasions of the odd expression in his eyes which Ihad first seen when he asked me whether I knew anything about the duel.No matter what we were talking about, or where we happened to be, there were times when he would suddenly look away from my face, now on one side of me, now on the other, but always where there was nothing to see, and always with the same intensity and fierceness in his eyes.This looked so like madness--or hypochondria at the least--that I felt afraid to ask him about it, and always pretended not to observe him.
The second peculiarity in his conduct was that he never referred, while in my company, to the reports about his errand at Naples, and never once spoke of Miss Elmslie, or of his life at Wincot Abbey.This not only astonished me, but amazed those who had noticed our intimacy, and who had made sure that I must be the depositary of all his secrets.But the time was near at hand when this mystery, and some other mysteries of which I had no suspicion at that period, were all to be revealed.
I met him one night at a large ball, given by a Russian nobleman, whose name I could not pronounce then, and cannot remember now.Ihad wandered away from reception-room, ballroom, and cardroom, to a small apartment at one extremity of the palace, which was half conservatory, half boudoir, and which had been prettily illuminated for the occasion with Chinese lanterns.Nobody was in the room when I got there.The view over the Mediterranean, bathed in the bright softness of Italian moonlight, was so lovely that I remained for a long time at the window, looking out, and listening to the dance-music which faintly reached me from the ballroom.My thoughts were far away with the relations I had left in England, when I was startled out of them by hearing my name softly pronounced.
I looked round directly, and saw Monkton standing in the room.Alivid paleness overspread his face, and his eyes were turned away from me with the same extraordinary expression in them to which Ihave already alluded.
"Do you mind leaving the ball early to-night?" he asked, still not looking at me.
"Not at all," said I."Can I do anything for you? Are you ill?""No--at least nothing to speak of.Will you come to my rooms?""At once, if you like."
"No, not at once._I_ must go home directly; but don't you come to me for half an hour yet.You have not been at my rooms before, I know, but you will easily find them out; they are close by.
There is a card with my address.I _must_ speak to you to-night;my life depends on it.Pray come! for God's sake, come when the half hour is up!"I promised to be punctual, and he left me directly.
Most people will be easily able to imagine the state of nervous impatience and vague expectation in which I passed the allotted period of delay, after hearing such words as those Monkton had spoken to me.Before the half hour had quite expired I began to make my way out through the ballroom.
At the head of the staircase my friend, the _attache,_ met me.
"What! going away already?" Said he.
"Yes; and on a very curious expedition.I am going to Monkton's rooms, by his own invitation.""You don't mean it! Upon my honor, you're a bold fellow to trust yourself alone with 'Mad Monkton' when the moon is at the full.""He is ill, poor fellow.Besides, I don't think him half as mad as you do.""We won't dispute about that; but mark my words, he has not asked you to go where no visitor has ever been admitted before without a special purpose.I predict that you will see or hear something to-night which you will remember for the rest of your life."We parted.When I knocked at the courtyard gate of the house where Monkton lived, my friend's last words on the palace staircase recurred to me, and, though I had laughed at him when he spoke them, I began to suspect even then that his prediction would be fulfilled.
