f myself, though I could not master the
commotion within me, I deliberately took down an exciting book from the
shelf, a book of breathless adventure which had always interested me, and
tried with that to break the spell. After a few minutes, however, I flung
the book aside; I was gradually losing all power over myself. What I
should be moved to do,--to shout aloud, to struggle with I know not what;
or if I was going mad altogether, and next moment must be a raving
lunatic,--I could not tell. I kept looking round, expecting I don't know
what; several times with the corner of my eye I seemed to see a movement,
as if some one was stealing out of sight; but when I looked straight,
there was never anything but the plain outlines of the wall and carpet,
the chairs standing in good order. At last I snatched up the lamp in my
hand, and went out of the room. To look at the picture, which had been
faintly showing in my imagination from time to time, the eyes, more
anxious than ever, looking at me from out the silent air? But no; I
passed the door of that room swiftly, moving, it seemed, without any
volition of my own, and before I knew where I was going, went into my
father's library with my lamp in my hand.

He was still sitting there at his writing-table; he looked up astonished
to see me hurrying in with my light. "Phil!" he said, surprised. I
remember that I shut the door behind me, and came up to him, and set down
the lamp on his table. My sudden appearance alarmed him. "What is the
matter?" he cried. "Philip, what have you been doing with yourself?"

I sat down on the nearest chair and gasped, gazing at him. The wild
commotion ceased; the blood subsided into its natural channels; my
heart resumed its place. I use such words as mortal weakness can to
express the sensations I felt. I came to myself thus, gazing at him,
confounded, at once by the extraordinary passion which I had gone
through, and its sudden cessation. "The matter?" I cried; "I don't
know what is the matter."

My father had pushed his spectacles up from his eyes. He appeared to me
as faces appear in a fever, all glorified with light which is not in
them,--his eyes glowing, his white hair shining like silver; but his
looks were severe. "You are not a boy, that I should reprove you; but you
ought to know better," he said.

Then I explained to him, so far as I was able, what had happened. Had
happened? Nothing had happened. He did not understand me; nor did I