The Familiar, Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [people reading books txt] 📗

was apparent;

especially as no sound, either of retreating steps or any

other kind, was audible to direct his pursuit.

 

With the tumultuous sensations of one whose life has just

been exposed to a murderous attempt, and whose escape has

been the narrowest possible, Captain Barton turned again;

and without, however, quickening his pace actually to a run,

hurriedly pursued his way.

 

He had turned, as I have said, after a pause of a few

seconds, and had just commenced his rapid retreat, when on a

sudden he met the well-remembered little man in the fur cap.

The encounter was but momentary. The figure was walking at

the same exaggerated pace, and with the same strange air of

menace as before; and as it passed him he thought he heard

it say, in a furious whisper, “Still alive, still alive!”

 

The state of Mr. Barton’s spirits began now to work a

corresponding alteration in his health and looks, and to

such a degree that it was impossible that the change should

escape general remark.

 

For some reasons, known but to himself, he took no steps

whatsoever to bring the attempt upon his life, which he had

so narrowly escaped, under the notice of the authorities; on

the contrary, he kept it jealously to himself; and it was

not for many weeks after the occurrence that he mentioned

it, and then in strict confidence, to a gentleman, whom the

torments of his mind at last compelled him to consult.

 

Spite of his blue devils, however, poor Barton, having no

satisfactory reason to render to the public for any undue

remissness in the attentions exacted by the relation

existing between him and Miss Montague, was obliged to exert

himself, and present to the world a confident and cheerful

bearing.

 

The true source of his sufferings, and every circumstance

connected with him, he guarded with a reserve so jealous,

that it seemed dictated by at least a suspicion that the

origin of his strange persecution was known to himself, and

that it was of a nature which, upon his own account, he

could not or dared not disclose.

 

The mind thus turned in upon itself, and constantly

occupied with a haunting anxiety which it dared not reveal

or confide to any human breast, became daily more excited,

and, of course, more vividly impressible, by a system of

attack which operated through the nervous system; and in

this state he was destined to sustain, with increasing

frequency, the stealthy visitations of that apparition

which, from the first, had seemed to possess so terrible a

hold upon his imagination.

 

It was about this time that Captain Barton called upon the

then celebrated preacher, Dr. –-, with whom he had a slight

acquaintance, and an extraordinary conversation ensued.

 

The divine was seated in his chambers in college,

surrounded with works upon his favourite pursuit, and deep

in theology, when Barton was announced.

 

There was something at once embarrassed and excited in his

manner, which, along with his wan and haggard countenance,

impressed the student with the unpleasant consciousness that

his visitor must have recently suffered terribly indeed, to

account for an alteration so striking — almost shocking.

 

After the usual interchange of polite greeting, and a few

common-place remarks, Captain Barton, who obviously

perceived the surprise which his visit had excited, and

which Doctor was unable wholly to conceal, interrupted a

brief pause by remarking:

 

“This is a strange call, Doctor –-, perhaps scarcely

warranted by an acquaintance so slight as mine with you. I

should not under ordinary circumstances have ventured to

disturb you; but my visit is neither an idle nor impertinent

intrusion. I am sure you will not so account it, when I

tell you how afflicted I am.”

 

Doctor –- interrupted him with assurances such as good

breeding suggested, and Barton resumed.

 

“I am come to task your patience by asking your advice.

When I say your patience, I might, indeed, say more; I might

have said your humanity — your compassion; for I have been

and am a great sufferer.”

 

“My dear sir,” replied the churchman, “it will, indeed,

afford me infinite gratification if I can give you comfort

in any distress of mind! but — you know –-”

 

“I know what you would say,” resumed Barton, quickly; “I

am an unbeliever, and, therefore, incapable of deriving help

from religion; but don’t take that for granted. At least

you must not assume that, however unsettled my convictions

may be, I do not feel a deep — a very deep — interest in the

subject. Circumstances have lately forced it upon my

attention in such a way as to compel me to review the whole

question in a more candid and teachable spirit, I believe,

than I ever studied it in before.”

 

“Your difficulties, I take it for granted, refer to the

evidences of revelation,” suggested the clergyman.

 

“Why — no — not altogether; in fact, I am ashamed to say I

have not considered even my objections sufficiently to state

them connectedly; but — but there is one subject on which I

feel a peculiar interest.”

 

He paused again, and Doctor pressed him to proceed.

 

“The fact is,” said Barton, “whatever may be my

uncertainty as to the authenticity of what we are taught to

call revelation, of one fact I am deeply and horribly

convinced, that there does exist beyond this a spiritual

world — a system whose workings are generally in mercy hidden

from us — a system which may be, and which is sometimes,

partially and terribly revealed. I am sure — I know,”

continued Barton, with increasing excitement, “that there is

a God — a dreadful God — and that retribution follows guilt,

in ways the most mysterious and stupendous — by agencies the

most inexplicable and terrific; — there is a spiritual

system — great God, how I have been convinced! — a system

malignant, and implacable, and omnipotent, under whose

persecutions I am, and have been, suffering the torments of

the damned! — yes, sir — yes — the fires and frenzy of hell!”

 

As Barton spoke, his agitation became so vehement that the

Divine was shocked, and even alarmed. The wild and excited

rapidity with which he spoke, and, above all, the

indefinable horror that stamped his features, afforded a

contrast to his ordinary cool and unimpassioned

self-possession striking and painful in the last degree.