sight, clothed with a supernatural charm; like an
unreasoning coward, I run away from it. It continues
to haunt me; I cannot shut out its apparition.
It pursues me by day alike in the haunts of men,—alike
in the solitudes of nature; it visits me by night in
my dreams. I begin to say this must be a real
visitant from another world: it must be love;
the love of which I read in the Poets, as in the Poets
I read of witchcraft and ghosts. Surely I must
approach that apparition as a philosopher like Sir
David Brewster would approach the black cat seated
on a hearth-rug, which he tells us that some lady of
his acquaintance constantly saw till she went into
a world into which black cats are not held to be admitted.
The more I think of it the less it appears to me possible
that I can be really in love with a wild, half-educated,
anomalous creature, merely because the apparition
of her face haunts me. With perfect safety, therefore,
I can approach the creature; in proportion as I see
more of her the illusion will vanish. I will
go back to Moleswich manfully.”
Thus said Kenelm to himself, and himself answered,—“Go;
for thou canst not help it. Thinkest thou that
Daces can escape the net that has meshed a Roach?
No,—
‘Come it will, the day decreed
by fate,’
when thou must succumb to the ‘Nature which
will be heard.’ Better succumb now, and
with a good grace, than resist till thou hast reached
thy fiftieth year, and then make a rational choice
not for thy personal satisfaction.”
Whereupon Kenelm answered to himself, indignantly,
“Pooh! thou flippant. My alter ego,
thou knowest not what thou art talking about!
It is not a question of Nature; it is a question of
the supernatural,—an illusion,—a
phantom!” Thus Kenelm and himself continued
to quarrel with each other; and the more they quarrelled,
the nearer they approached to the haunted spot in which
had been seen, and fled from, the fatal apparition
of first love.
SIR PETER had not heard from Kenelm since a letter
informing him that his son had left town on an excursion,
which would probably be short, though it might last
a few weeks; and the good Baronet now resolved to
go to London himself, take his chance of Kenelm’s
return, and if still absent, at least learn from Mivers
and others how far that very eccentric planet had
contrived to steer a regular course amidst the fixed
stars of the metropolitan system. He had other
reasons for his journey. He wished to make the
acquaintance of Chillingly Gordon before handing him
over the L20,000 which Kenelm had released in that
resettlement of estates, the necessary deeds of which
the young heir had signed before quitting London for
Moleswich. Sir Peter wished still more to see
Cecilia Travers, in whom Kenelm’s accounts of
her had inspired a very strong interest.
