Soon afterwards Joseph came in with a message. If there was no immediate
necessity for his presence in the bedchamber, Mr. Engelman would go out
to get a breath of fresh air, before he retired for the night. There was
no necessity for his presence; and I sent a message downstairs to that
effect.

An hour later Mr. Engelman came in to see his old friend, and to say
good-night. After an interval of restlessness, the sufferer had become
composed, and was dozing again under the influence of his medicine.
Making all allowances for the sorrow and anxiety which Mr. Engelman must
necessarily feel under the circumstances, I thought his manner strangely
absent and confused. He looked like a man with some burden on his mind
which he was afraid to reveal and unable to throw off.

"Somebody must be found, David, who does understand the case," he said,
looking at the helpless figure on the bed.

"Who can we find?" I asked.

He bade me good-night without answering. It is no exaggeration to say
that I passed my night at the bedside in a miserable state of indecision
and suspense. The doctor's experiment had failed to prove absolutely that
the doctor's doubts were without foundation. In this state of things, was
it my bounden duty to tell the medical men what I had seen, when I went
back to the house to look for Mr. Keller's opera-glass? The more I
thought of it, the more I recoiled from the idea of throwing a frightful
suspicion on Minna's mother which would overshadow an innocent woman for
the rest of her life. What proof had I that she had lied to me about the
sketch and the mantlepiece? And, without proof, how could I, how dare I,
open my lips? I succeeded in deciding firmly enough for the alternative