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TITLE: THE STRAND MAGAZINE: VOL VII, ISSUE 37 JAN 1894
AUTHOR: GEORGE NEWNES (EDITOR)
EBOOK: E00086 (O'Briens Book Cellar)

THE STRAND MAGAZINE 
 
_An Illustrated Monthly_ 
 
EDITED BY GEORGE NEWNES 
 
Vol. VII., Issue 37. January, 1894. 
 
       *       *       *       *       * 
 
_Contents._ 
 
Stories from the Diary of a Doctor. 
    By the Authors of "The Medicine Lady." 
    VII.--The Horror of Studley Grange. 
 
The Queen of Holland. 
    By Mary Spencer-Warren. 
 
Zig-Zags at the Zoo. 
    By A. G. Morrison. 
    XIX.--Zig-Zag Batrachian. 
 
The Helmet. 
    From the French of Ferdinand Beissier. 
 
The Music of Nature. 
    By T. Camden Pratt. 
    Part II. 
 
Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of Their Lives. 
    Sir Henry Loch. 
    Madame Belle Cole. 
    The Lord Bishop of Peterborough. 
    Lord Wantage. 
    Sir Richard Temple, M.P. 
 
A Terrible New Year's Eve. 
    By Kathleen Huddleston. 
 
Personal Reminiscences of Sir Andrew Clark. 
    By E. H. Pitcairn. 
 
Beauties: 
    XIII.--Children. 
 
The Signatures of Charles Dickens (with Portraits). 
    By J. Holt Schooling. 
 
The Mirror. 
    From the French of George Japy. 
 
Handcuffs. 
    By Inspector Moser. 
 
The Family Name. 
    From the French of Henri Malin. 
 
The Queer Side of Things-- 
    Among the Freaks.--Major Microbe. 
    Lamps of all Kinds and Times. 
    The Two Styles. 
 
       *       *       *       *       * 
 
_Stories from the Diary of a Doctor._ 
 
_By the Authors of "THE MEDICINE LADY."_ 
 
VII.--THE HORROR OF STUDLEY GRANGE. 
 
[Illustration: "THE HORROR OF STUDLEY GRANGE."] 
 
I was in my consulting-room one morning, and had just said good-bye to 
the last of my patients, when my servant came in and told me that a lady 
had called who pressed very earnestly for an interview with me. 
 
"I told her that you were just going out, sir," said the man, "and she 
saw the carriage at the door; but she begged to see you, if only for two 
minutes. This is her card." 
 
I read the words, "Lady Studley." 
 
"Show her in," I said, hastily, and the next moment a tall, 
slightly-made, fair-haired girl entered the room. 
 
She looked very young, scarcely more than twenty, and I could hardly 
believe that she was, what her card indicated, a married woman. 
 
The colour rushed into her cheeks as she held out her hand to me. I 
motioned her to a chair, and then asked her what I could do for her. 
 
"Oh, you can help me," she said, clasping her hands and speaking in a 
slightly theatrical manner. "My husband, Sir Henry Studley, is very 
unwell, and I want you to come to see him--can you?--will you?" 
 
"With pleasure," I replied. "Where do you live?" 
 
"At Studley Grange, in Wiltshire. Don't you know our place?" 
 
"I daresay I ought to know it," I replied, "although at the present 
moment I can't recall the name. You want me to come to see your husband. 
I presume you wish me to have a consultation with his medical 
attendant?" 
 
"No, no, not at all. The fact is, Sir Henry has not got a medical 
attendant. He dislikes doctors, and won't see one. I want you to come 
and stay with us for a week or so. I have heard of you through mutual 
friends--the Onslows. I know you can effect remarkable cures, and you 
have a great deal of tact. But you can't possibly do anything for my 
husband unless you are willing to stay in the house and to notice his 
symptoms." 
 
[Illustration: "LADY STUDLEY SPOKE WITH GREAT EMPHASIS."] 
 
Lady Studley spoke with great emphasis and earnestness. Her long, 
slender hands were clasped tightly together. She had drawn off her 
gloves and was bending forward in her chair. Her big, childish, and 
somewhat restless blue eyes were fixed imploringly on my face. 
 
"I love my husband," she said, tears suddenly filling them--"and it is 
dreadful, dreadful, to see him suffer as he does. He will die unless 
someone comes to his aid. Oh, I know I am asking an immense thing, when 
I beg of you to leave all your patients and come to the country. But we 
can pay. Money is no object whatever to us. We can, we will, gladly pay 
you for your services." 
 
"I must think the matter over," I said. "You flatter me by wishing for 
me, and by believing that I can render you assistance, but I cannot take 
a step of this kind in a hurry. I will write to you by to-night's post 
if you will give me your address. In the meantime, kindly tell me some 
of the symptoms of Sir Henry's malady." 
 
"I fear it is a malady of the mind," she answered immediately, "but it 
is of so vivid and so startling a character, that unless relief is soon 
obtained, the body must give way under the strain. You see that I am 
very young, Dr. Halifax. Perhaps I look younger than I am--my age is 
twenty-two. My husband is twenty years my senior. He would, however, be 
considered by most people still a young man. He is a great scholar, and 
has always had more or less the habits of a recluse. He is fond of 
living in his library, and likes nothing better than to be surrounded by 
books of all sorts. Every modern book worth reading is forwarded to him 
by its publisher. He is a very interesting man and a brilliant 
conversationalist. Perhaps I ought to put all this in the past tense, 
for now he scarcely ever speaks--he reads next to nothing--it is 
difficult to persuade him to eat--he will not leave the house--he used 
to have a rather ruddy complexion--he is now deadly pale and terribly 
emaciated. He sighs in the most heartrending manner, and seems to be in 
a state of extreme nervous tension. In short, he is very ill, and yet he 
seems to have no bodily disease. His eyes have a terribly startled 
expression in them--his hand trembles so that he can scarcely raise a 
cup of tea to his lips. In short, he looks like a man who has seen 
a ghost." 
 
"When did these symptoms begin to appear?" I asked. 
 
"It is mid-winter now," said Lady Studley. "The queer symptoms began to 
show themselves in my husband in October. They have been growing worse 
and worse. In short, I can stand them no longer," she continued, giving 
way to a short, hysterical sob. "I felt I must come to someone--I have 
heard of you. Do, do come and save us. Do come and find out what is the 
matter with my wretched husband." 
 
"I will write to you to-night," I said, in as kind a voice as I could 
muster, for the pretty, anxious wife interested me already. "It may not 
be possible for me to stay at Studley Grange for a week, but in any case 
I can promise to come and see the patient. One visit will probably be 
sufficient--what your husband wants is, no doubt, complete change." 
 
"Oh, yes, yes," she replied, standing up now. "I have said so scores of 
times, but Sir Henry won't stir from Studley--nothing will induce him to 
go away. He won't even leave his own special bedroom, although I expect 
he has dreadful nights." Two hectic spots burnt in her cheeks as she 
spoke. I looked at her attentively. 
 
"You will forgive me for speaking," I said, "but you do not look at all 
well yourself. I should like to prescribe for you as well as 
your husband." 
 
"Thank you," she answered, "I am not very strong. I never have been, but 
that is nothing--I mean that my health is not a thing of consequence at 
present. Well, I must not take up any more of your time. I shall expect 
to get a letter from you to-morrow morning. Please address it to Lady 
Studley, Grosvenor Hotel, Victoria." 
 
She touched my hand with fingers that burnt like a living coal and left 
the room. 
 
I thought her very ill, and was sure that if I could see my way to 
spending a week at Studley Grange, I should have two patients instead of 
one. It is always difficult for a busy doctor to leave home, but after 
carefully thinking matters over, I resolved to comply with Lady 
Studley's request. 
 
[Illustration: "LADY STUDLEY HAD COME HERSELF TO FETCH ME."] 
 
Accordingly, two days later saw me on my way to Wiltshire, and to 

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