Her hands
trembled, and she began to gulp and try not to cry.
Mr. Rolfe observed directly, and said, rather kindly, "You are
agitated; and no wonder."
He then opened a sort of china closet, poured a few drops of a
colorless liquid from a tiny bottle into a wine-glass, and filled the
glass with water from a filter. "Drink that, if you please."
She looked at him with her eyes brimming. _"Must_ I?"
"Yes; it will do you good for once in a way. It is only Ignatia."
She drank it by degrees, and a tear along with it that fell into the
glass.
Meantime Mr. Rolfe had returned to his notes and examined them. He then
addressed her, half stiffly, half kindly:
"Lady Bassett, whatever may be your husband's condition--whether his
illness is mental or bodily, or a mixture of the two--his clandestine
examination by bought physicians, and his violent capture, the natural
effect of which must have been to excite him and retard his cure, were
wicked and barbarous acts, contrary to God's law and the common law of
England, and, indeed, to all human law except our shallow, incautious
Statutes de Lunatico: they were an insult to yourself, who ought at
least to have been consulted, for your rights are higher and purer than
Richard Bassett's; therefore, as a wife bereaved of your husband by
fraud and violence and the bare letter of a paltry statute whose spirit
has been violated, you are quite justified in coming to me or to any
public man you think can help your husband and you.
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