ry
circumstance connected with his malady. As it was, I felt myself
breathing an atmosphere of moral contagion during the perusal of the
manuscript, and certain passages have since returned at times to haunt
me in spite of all efforts to dislodge them from my memory. When I came
to Worth at Miss Maltravers's urgent invitation, I found my friend Sir
John terribly altered. It was not only that he was ill and physically
weak, but he had entirely lost the manner of youth, which, though
indefinable, is yet so appreciable, and draws so sharp a distinction
between the first period of life and middle age. But the most striking
feature of his illness was the extraordinary pallor of his complexion,
which made his face resemble a subtle counterfeit of white wax rather
than that of a living man. He welcomed me undemonstratively, but with
evident sincerity; and there was an entire absence of the constraint
which often accompanies the meeting again of friends whose cordial
relations have suffered interruption. From the time of my arrival at
Worth until his death we were constantly together; indeed I was much
struck by the almost childish dislike which he showed to be left alone
even for a few moments. As night approached this feeling became
intensified. Parnham slept always in his master's room; but if anything
called the servant away even for a minute, he would send for Carotenuto
or myself to be with him until his return. His nerves were weak; he
started violently at any unexpected noise, and above all, he dreaded
being in the dark. When night fell he had additional lamps brought into
his room, and even when he composed himself to sleep, insisted on a
strong light being kept by his bedside.

I had often read in books of people wearing a "hunted" expression, and
had laughed at the phrase as conventional and unmeaning. But when I
came to Worth I knew its truth; for if any face ever wore a hunted--I
had almost written a haunted--look, it was the white face of Sir John
Maltravers. His air seemed that of a man who was constantly expecting
the arrival of some evil tidings, and at times reminded me painfully of
the guilty expectation of a felon who knows that a warrant is issued for
his arrest.

During my visit he spoke to me frequently about his past life, and
instead of showing any reluctance to discuss the subject, seemed glad of
the opportunity of disburdening his mind. I gathered from him that the
reading of Adrian Temple's memoirs