way, I have consented to this. But I must not allow you to place
yourself in what may be a disagreeable position, without a word of
warning. Judging by his tones and his looks, he seems to have no very
friendly motive for wishing to see you."

Knowing perfectly well what had happened, and being one of those
impatient people who can never endure suspense--I offered to go at once
to Mr. Gracedieu's room. The doctor asked leave to say one word more.

"Pray be careful that you neither say nor do anything to thwart him,"
Mr. Wellwood resumed. "If he expresses an opinion, agree with him. If
he is insolent and overbearing, don't answer him. In the state of his
brain, the one hopeful course to take is to let him have his own way.
Pray remember that. I will be within call, in case of your wanting me."

CHAPTER XLV. THE FATAL PORTRAIT.

I knocked at the bedroom door.

"Who's there?"

Only two words--but the voice that uttered them, hoarse and peremptory,
was altered almost beyond recognition. If I had not known whose room it
was, I might have doubted whether the Minister had really spoken to me.

At the instant when I answered him, I was allowed to pass in. Having
admitted me, he closed the door, and placed himself with his back
against it. The customary pallor of his face had darkened to a deep
red; there was an expression of ferocious mockery in his eyes. Helena's
vengeance had hurt her unhappy father far more severely than it seemed
likely to hurt me. The doctor had said he was on the verge of madness.
To my thinking, he had already passed the boundary line.

He received me with a boisterous affectation of cordiality.

"My excellent friend! My admirable, honorable, welcome guest, you don't
know how glad I am to see you. Stand a little nearer to the light; I
want to admire you."

Remembering the doctor's advice, I obeyed him in silence.

"Ah, you were a handsome fellow when I first knew you," he said, "and
you have some remains of it still left. Do you remember the time when
you were a favorite with the ladies? Oh, don't pretend to be modest;
don't turn your back, now you are old, on what you were in the prime of
your life. Do you own that I am right?"

What his object might be in saying this--if, indeed, he had an
object--it was impossible to guess. The doctor's advice left me no
alternative; I hastened to own that he was right. As I made that answer,
I observed that he held something in his hand which was ha