The business-like attention in Dr. Mosgrave's face grew into a look of interest as he listened to Robert Audley.
"The revelation made by the patient to the physician is, I believe, as sacred as the confession of a penitent to his priest?" Robert asked, gravely.
"Quite as sacred."
"A solemn confidence, to be violated under no circumstances?"
"Most certainly."
Robert Audley looked at the fire again. How much should he tell, or how little, of the dark history of his uncle's second wife?
"I have been given to understand, Dr. Mosgrave, that you have devoted much of your attention to the treatment of insanity."
"Yes, my practice is almost confined to the treatment of mental diseases."
"Such being the case, I think I may venture to conclude that you sometimes receive strange, and even terrible, revelations."
Dr. Mosgrave bowed.
He looked like a man who could have carried, safely locked in his passionless breast, the secrets of a nation, and who would have suffered no inconvenience from the weight of such a burden.
"The story which I am about to tell you is not my own story," said Robert, after a pause; "you will forgive me, therefore, if I once more remind you that I can only reveal it upon the understanding that under no circumstances, or upon no apparent justification, is that confidence to be betrayed."
Dr. Mosgrave bowed again. A little sternly, perhaps, this time.
"I am all attention, Mr. Audley," he said coldly.
Robert Audley drew his chair nearer to that of the physician, and in a low voice began the story which my lady had told upon her knees in that same chamber upon the previous night. Dr. Mosgrave's listening face, turned always toward the speaker, betrayed no surprise at that strange revelation. He smiled once, a grave, quiet smile, when Mr. Audley came to that part of the story which told of the conspiracy at Ventnor; but he was not surprised. Robert Audley ended his story at the point at which Sir Michael Audley had interrupted my lady's confession. He told nothing of the disappearance of George Talboys, nor of the horrible suspicions that had grown out of that disappearance. He told nothing of the fire at the Castle Inn.
Dr. Mosgrave shook his head, gravely, when Mr. Audley came to the end of his story.
"You have nothing further to tell me?" he said.
"No. I do not think there is anything more that need be told," Robert answered, rather evasively.
"You would wish to prove that this lady is mad, and therefore irresponsible for her actions, Mr. Audley?" said the physician.
Robert Audley stared, wondering at the mad doctor. By what process had he so rapidly arrived at the young man's secret desire?