e
communing in a corner, and accident enabled him to catch this name,
though uttered by them in a half whisper, and to discover that the
person talked about had lately been conveyed thither.

This name was not now heard for the first time. It was connected with
remembrances that made him anxious for the fate of him to whom it
belonged. In discourse with my wife, this name chanced to be again
mentioned, and his curiosity was roused afresh. I was willing to
communicate all that I knew, but Mervyn's own destiny was too remarkable
not to absorb all my attention, and I refused to discuss any other theme
till that were fully explained. He postponed his own gratification to
mine, and consented to relate the incidents that had happened from the
moment of our separation till the present.

CHAPTER XXIX.

At parting with you, my purpose was to reach the abode of the Hadwins as
speedily as possible. I travelled therefore with diligence. Setting out
so early, I expected, though on foot, to reach the end of my journey
before noon. The activity of muscles is no obstacle to thought. So far
from being inconsistent with intense musing, it is, in my own case,
propitious to that state of mind.

Probably no one had stronger motives for ardent meditation than I. My
second journey to the city was prompted by reasons, and attended by
incidents, that seemed to have a present existence. To think upon them
was to view, more deliberately and thoroughly, objects and persons that
still hovered in my sight. Instead of their attributes being already
seen, and their consequences at an end, it seemed as if a series of
numerous years and unintermitted contemplation were requisite to
comprehend them fully, and bring into existence their most momentous
effects.

If men be chiefly distinguished from each other by the modes in which
attention is employed, either on external and sensible objects, or
merely on abstract ideas and the creatures of reflection, I may justly
claim to be enrolled in the second class. My existence is a series of
thoughts rather than of motions. Ratiocination and deduction leave my
senses unemployed. The fulness of my fancy renders my eye vacant and
inactive. Sensations do not precede and suggest, but follow and are
secondary to, the acts of my mind.

There was one motive, however, which made me less inattentive to the
scene that was continually shifting before and without me than I am
wont to be. The loveliest form wh