The Moonstone

"I confess you led me to hope for a less discouraging answer than that,"

I said.

Ezra Jennings smiled. "It may not, perhaps, be a final answer, Mr.

Blake. It may be possible to trace Mr. Candy's lost recollection,

without the necessity of appealing to Mr. Candy himself."

"Indeed? Is it an indiscretion, on my part, to ask how?"

"By no means. My only difficulty in answering your question, is the

difficulty of explaining myself. May I trust to your patience, if I

refer once more to Mr. Candy's illness: and if I speak of it this time

without sparing you certain professional details?"

"Pray go on! You have interested me already in hearing the details."

My eagerness seemed to amuse--perhaps, I might rather say, to please

him. He smiled again. We had by this time left the last houses in the

town behind us. Ezra Jennings stopped for a moment, and picked some wild

flowers from the hedge by the roadside. "How beautiful they are!" he

said, simply, showing his little nosegay to me. "And how few people in

England seem to admire them as they deserve!"

"You have not always been in England?" I said.

"No. I was born, and partly brought up, in one of our colonies. My

father was an Englishman; but my mother--We are straying away

from our subject, Mr. Blake; and it is my fault. The truth is, I have

associations with these modest little hedgeside flowers--It doesn't

matter; we were speaking of Mr. Candy. To Mr. Candy let us return."

Connecting the few words about himself which thus reluctantly escaped

him, with the melancholy view of life which led him to place the

conditions of human happiness in complete oblivion of the past, I

felt satisfied that the story which I had read in his face was, in two

particulars at least, the story that it really told. He had suffered as

few men suffer; and there was the mixture of some foreign race in his

English blood.

"You have heard, I dare say, of the original cause of Mr. Candy's

illness?" he resumed. "The night of Lady Verinder's dinner-party was a

night of heavy rain. My employer drove home through it in his gig, and

reached the house wetted to the skin. He found an urgent message from

a patient, waiting for him; and he most unfortunately went at once to

visit the sick person, without stopping to change his clothes. I was

myself professionally detained, that night, by a case at some distance

from Frizinghall. When I got back the next morning, I found Mr. Candy's

groom waiting in great alarm to take me to his master's room. By that

time the mischief was done; the illness had set in."

"The illness has only been described to me, in general terms, as a

fever," I said.