crazy with delight, and the other half watches its proceedings with breathless concern; yet here are these virgin fields inviting the explorer, and only a few pioneers to venture on the task. How petty do such paltry researches into matter appear when compared with this one that strikes at the very root of Being and the matter of the soul! "
I bade good-night to Armstrong and walked home
to our little house in Road, pondering deeply
on many things, and uppermost in my thoughts was ever this hitherto neglected branch of mental science, whose manifestations I had years before spurned from me as spurious. Thus, I thought bitterly, did the quacks that hover in their shoals round everything sensational deter the earnest from research and throw them off the scent more effectively than Armstrong had, in his scathing irony, accused the causeless ban of science of doing. Yet my own earlier eagerness to investigate as deeply as I might had to a great extent evaporated.
Something had cooled my ardour, something I could neither name nor locate.
VII.
As I swung along through the silent street I felt a vague, indefinable dread creeping over me, a sudden terror of the unknown. People of nervous temperament have told us they have felt that sensation, and described it as a vague premonition of impending disaster. At times I felt my mind about to grasp the elusive thought and shape it into words. I would stop abruptly in my walk trying to find what it was I feared; but, however, ere I could seize it, it would slip away again— the nameless dread would vanish, and I would walk on, for the moment reassured, only to feel the same eerie sensation of awe gripping at my heart again. Twice I glanced apprehensively over my shoulder and smiled at my folly.
When I gained the house Ethel was sitting up
for me, and I left my fears at the door as I crossed
the threshold and stood in her bright company;
but her quick eyes noted the pallor on my face.
" Why," she cried, " Harry, what is the matter ?"
" Matter?" I echoed. " Nothing that I know of."
" My dear boy, you look as if you had seen a
ghost." She crossed the room and sat herself on my
knee, twining an arm lovingly round my neck. "Or as if," she crooned playfully, "you had been chased by my dressmaker with a long bill! "
"Which means," I said, smiling, for with her arm encircling me, I could find no room for fear in a heart so full of love, "which means, my dear Ethel, that you have your eye on a 'lovely new hat' at Hall and Holtz or somewhere, and mean me to augment that bill."
" No, dear, it is not a hat this time."
"Not a hat!" said I, trying to recollect my repertoire of feminine adornments. " Let me see; is it, then, one of those thing-um-bobs ? What do you call them—fichus ? "
" Nor is it a fichu," replied Ethel very gravely. " I want you, Harry, dear, to give up this black spot on the mosquito-bar business."
" My dear Ethel, what a curious request! "
" Nevertheless, I am quite serious. Oh, Harry, I cannot bear the ghastly look in your wide eyes when you are lying there in that dreadful sleep. I cannot close an eye myself, but sit watching and watching until you stir again, half afraid all the time you might not be able to bring yourself back again."
I drew her face down to mine and kissed her.
" Besides," she continued, tenderly stroking my hair, "it is worrying you. You have not been looking yourself of late. See, sir," she cried, slipping off my knee and planting her little hands on my shoulders, " you are looking quite pale now, and those horrid lines"—she traced them lovingly with her finger—"are growing deeper and deeper every day."
I drew her back again to my knee.
" Do you know, Ethel, I was about to decide myself upon giving it up. This settles it. At least, I shall give up all personal experiments, and such investigations as I carry out shall be the researches of a mere outsider."
" Oh, I am so glad !" she said, clapping her hands with glee. " And
I bade good-night to Armstrong and walked home
to our little house in Road, pondering deeply
on many things, and uppermost in my thoughts was ever this hitherto neglected branch of mental science, whose manifestations I had years before spurned from me as spurious. Thus, I thought bitterly, did the quacks that hover in their shoals round everything sensational deter the earnest from research and throw them off the scent more effectively than Armstrong had, in his scathing irony, accused the causeless ban of science of doing. Yet my own earlier eagerness to investigate as deeply as I might had to a great extent evaporated.
Something had cooled my ardour, something I could neither name nor locate.
VII.
As I swung along through the silent street I felt a vague, indefinable dread creeping over me, a sudden terror of the unknown. People of nervous temperament have told us they have felt that sensation, and described it as a vague premonition of impending disaster. At times I felt my mind about to grasp the elusive thought and shape it into words. I would stop abruptly in my walk trying to find what it was I feared; but, however, ere I could seize it, it would slip away again— the nameless dread would vanish, and I would walk on, for the moment reassured, only to feel the same eerie sensation of awe gripping at my heart again. Twice I glanced apprehensively over my shoulder and smiled at my folly.
When I gained the house Ethel was sitting up
for me, and I left my fears at the door as I crossed
the threshold and stood in her bright company;
but her quick eyes noted the pallor on my face.
" Why," she cried, " Harry, what is the matter ?"
" Matter?" I echoed. " Nothing that I know of."
" My dear boy, you look as if you had seen a
ghost." She crossed the room and sat herself on my
knee, twining an arm lovingly round my neck. "Or as if," she crooned playfully, "you had been chased by my dressmaker with a long bill! "
"Which means," I said, smiling, for with her arm encircling me, I could find no room for fear in a heart so full of love, "which means, my dear Ethel, that you have your eye on a 'lovely new hat' at Hall and Holtz or somewhere, and mean me to augment that bill."
" No, dear, it is not a hat this time."
"Not a hat!" said I, trying to recollect my repertoire of feminine adornments. " Let me see; is it, then, one of those thing-um-bobs ? What do you call them—fichus ? "
" Nor is it a fichu," replied Ethel very gravely. " I want you, Harry, dear, to give up this black spot on the mosquito-bar business."
" My dear Ethel, what a curious request! "
" Nevertheless, I am quite serious. Oh, Harry, I cannot bear the ghastly look in your wide eyes when you are lying there in that dreadful sleep. I cannot close an eye myself, but sit watching and watching until you stir again, half afraid all the time you might not be able to bring yourself back again."
I drew her face down to mine and kissed her.
" Besides," she continued, tenderly stroking my hair, "it is worrying you. You have not been looking yourself of late. See, sir," she cried, slipping off my knee and planting her little hands on my shoulders, " you are looking quite pale now, and those horrid lines"—she traced them lovingly with her finger—"are growing deeper and deeper every day."
I drew her back again to my knee.
" Do you know, Ethel, I was about to decide myself upon giving it up. This settles it. At least, I shall give up all personal experiments, and such investigations as I carry out shall be the researches of a mere outsider."
" Oh, I am so glad !" she said, clapping her hands with glee. " And
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