My
mother was the one person who could do what I wanted done. Her
sagacity I knew; her courage I knew. But how could I--how dare I,
broach such a matter to her? I felt it would be sheer madness to do
so, and yet, in my dire strait, in my terror at the illness I was
fighting with, I did it, as I am going to tell.
By this time the noise of my fall had brought up the servants. They
lifted me into bed and proposed fetching our medical man. But I
forbade them to do so, and said, 'I want to speak to my mother.'
'She is herself unwell, sir,' said the man to whom I spoke.
'I know,' I replied. 'Call her maid and tell her that my business
with my mother is very important, or I would not have dreamed of
disturbing her; but see her I must.'
The man looked dubious, but observing my wet clothes on a chair he
seemed to think that something had happened, and went to do my
bidding.
In a very short time my mother entered the room. I felt that my
moments of consciousness were brief, and began my story as soon as we
were alone. I told her how the sudden dread that Wynne would steal
the amulet had come upon me; I told her how I had run down to the
churchyard and discovered the landslip; I told her how, on seeing the
landslip, I had descended the gangway and found the body of Wynne,
the amulet, the casket, and the written curse.
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