assured,
with a light heart and a cheerful face, I followed the servant into the
great lady's pleasant but decorous presence-chamber.

(1) Such instances of suspense of memory are recorded in most
physiological and in some metaphysical works. Dr. Abercrombie notices
some, more or less similar to that related in the text: "A young lady
who was present at a catastrophe in Scotland, in which many people lost
their lives by the fall of the gallery of a church, escaped without any
injury, but with the complete loss of the recollection of any of the
circumstances; and this extended not only to the accident, but to
everything that had occurred to her for a certain time before going to
church. A lady whom I attended some years ago in a protracted illness,
in which her memory became much impaired, lost the recollection of a
period of about ten or twelve years, but spoke with perfect consistency
of things as they stood before that time." Dr. Aberercmbie adds: "As far
as I have been able to trace it, the principle in such cases seems to
be, that when the memory is impaired to a certain degree, the loss of
it extends backward to some event or some period by which a particularly
deep impression had been made upon the mind."--ABERCROMBIE: On the
Intellectual Powers, pp. 118, 119 (15th edition).

CHAPTER LVII.

Mrs. Poyntz was on her favourite seat by the window, and for a wonder,
not knitting--that classic task seemed done; but she was smoothing and
folding the completed work with her white comely hand, and smiling
over it, as if in complacent approval, when I entered the room. At the
fire-side sat the he-colonel inspecting a newly-invented barometer;
at another window, in the farthest recess of the room, stood Miss Jane
Poyntz, with a young gentleman whom I had never before seen, but
who turned his eyes full upon me with a haughty look as the servant
announced my name. He was tall, well proportioned, decidedly handsome,
but with that expression of cold and concentred self-esteem in his
very attitude, as well as his countenance, which makes a man of merit
unpopular, a man without merit ridiculous.

The he-colonel, always punctiliously civil, rose from his seat, shook
hands with me cordially, and said, "Coldish weather to-day; but we
shall have rain to-morrow. Rainy seasons come in cycles. We are about to
commence a cycle of them with heavy showers." He sighed, and returned to
his barometer.

Miss Jane bowed to me gracious