In such wise did I reason the matter out to myself. But reasoning was

quite unnecessary. I knew by a sure instinct. All the dark thoughts

of the ghost had passed into my brain, and if they had been

transcribed in words of fire and burnt upon my retina, I could not

have been more certain of their exact import.

As I sat in my room at the hotel that night I speculated morosely upon

my plight and upon the future. Had a man ever been so situated before?

Well, probably so. We go about in a world where secret influences are

continually at work for us or against us, and we do not suspect their

existence, because we have no imagination. For it needs imagination to

perceive the truth--that is why the greatest poets are always the

greatest teachers.

As for you who are disposed to smile at the idea of a live man crushed

(figuratively) under the heel of a ghost, I beg you to look back upon

your own experience, and count up the happenings which have struck you

as mysterious. You will be astonished at their number. But nothing is

so mysterious that it is incapable of explanation, did we but know

enough. I, by a singular mischance, was put in the way of the nameless

knowledge which explains all. At any rate, I was made acquainted with

some trifle of it. I had strayed on the seashore of the unknown, and

picked up a pebble. I had a glimpse of that other world which

permeates and exists side by side with and permeates our own.

Just now I used the phrase "under the heel of a ghost," and I used it

advisedly. It indicates pretty well my mental condition. I was cowed,

mastered. The ghost of Clarenceux, driven to extremities by the brief

scene of tenderness which had passed in Rosa's drawing-room, had

determined by his own fell method to end the relations between Rosa

and myself. And his method was to assume a complete sway over me, the

object of his hatred.

How did he exercise that sway? Can I answer? I cannot. How does one

man influence another? Not by electric wires or chemical apparatus,

but by those secret channels through which intelligence meets

intelligence. All I know is that I felt his sinister authority. During

life Clarenceux, according to every account, had been masterful,

imperious, commanding; and he carried these attributes with him beyond

the grave. His was a stronger personality than mine, and I could not

hide from myself the assurance that in the struggle of will against

will I should not be the conqueror.

Not that anything had occurred, even the smallest thing! Upon

perceiving Rosa the apparition, as I have said, vanished. We did not

say much to each other, Rosa and I; we could not--we were afraid. I

went to my hotel; I sat in my room alone; I saw no ghost. But I was

aware, I was aware of the doom which impended over me. And already,

indeed, I experienced the curious sensation of the ebbing of

volitional power; I thought even that I was losing my interest in

life. My sensations were dulled. It began to appear to me unimportant

whether I lived or died. Only I knew that in either case I should love

Rosa. My love was independent of my will, and therefore the ghost of

Clarenceux, do what it might, could not tear it from me. I might die,

I might suffer mental tortures inconceivable, but I should continue to

love. In this idea lay my only consolation.




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