the doctor, relapsing for a moment
into a smile, " of course I was in a devil
of a rage. I was operating on my underjaw,
and the start the thing gave me caused
me to cut myself. Besides, altogether it seemed
an outrageous and insolent thing, and I gave it
to poor Strange in a style of language which I
am sorry to think of now, but which, I hope,
was excusable at the time. As to the offender
himself, his confusion and regret, now that his
passion was at ail end, disarmed me. He sent
for the steward, and paid most liberally for the
damage done to the steam-boat property, explaining
to him, and to some other passengers who
were present in the cabin, that what had
happened had been accidental. For me, however,
he had another explanation. Perhaps he felt
that I must know it to have been no accident—-
perhaps he really wished to confide in some one.
At all events, he owned to me that what he had
done was done under the influence of an
uncontrollable impulse—- a seizure which took him, he
said, at times—- something like a fit. He begged
my pardon, and entreated that I would endeavour
to disassociate him personally from this
action, of which he was heartily ashamed. Then
he attempted a sickly joke, poor fellow, about
his wearing a beard, and feeling a little spiteful,
in consequence, when he saw other people taking
the trouble to shave; but he said nothing about
any infirmity or delusion, and shortly after left
me.

"In my professional capacity I could not help
taking some interest in Mr. Strange. I did not
altogether lose sight of him after our sea-journey
to Marseilles was over. I found him a pleasant
companion up to a certain point; but I always
felt that there was a reserve about him. He
was uncommunicative about his past life, and
especially would never allude to anything
connected with his travels or his residence in Italy,
which, however, I could make out had been a
long one. He spoke Italian well, and seemed
familiar with the country, but disliked to talk
about it.

"During the time we spent together there
were seasons when he was so little himself,
that I, with a pretty large experience, was almost
afraid to be with him. His attacks were
violent and sudden in the last degree; and
there was one most extraordinary feature connected
with them all: some horrible association
of ideas took possession of him whenever
he found himself before a looking-glass. And
after we had travelled together for a time, I
dreaded the sight of a mirror hanging harmlessly
against a wall, or a toilet-glass standing
on a dressing-table, almost as much as he did.

"Poor Strange was not always affected in
the same manner by a looking-glass. Sometimes
it seemed to madden him with fury;
at other times, it appeared to turn him to
stone: remaining motionless and speechless as
if attacked by catalepsy. One night—- the worst
things always happen at night, and oftener than
one would think on stormy nights—- we arrived
at a small town in the central district of
Auvergne: a place but little known, out of
the line of railways, and to which we had
been drawn, partly by the antiquarian attractions
which the place possessed, and partly
by the beauty of the scenery. The weather
had been rather against us. The day had
been dull and murky, the heat stifling, and
the sky had threatened mischief since the morning.
At sundown, these threats were fulfilled.
The thunderstorm, which had been all day
coming up—- as it seemed to us, against the
wind—- burst over the place where we were
lodged, with very great violence.

"There are some practical-minded persons
with strong constitutions, who deny roundly
that their fellow-creatures are, or can be,
affected, in mind or body, by atmospheric influences.
I am not a disciple of that school, simply
because I cannot believe that those changes of
weather, which have so much effect upon animals,
and even on inanimate objects, can fail to
have some influence on a piece of machinery
so sensitive and intricate as the human frame.
I think, then, that it was in part owing to the
disturbed state of the atmosphere that, on this
particular evening I felt nervous and depressed.
When my new friend Strange and I parted for
the night, I felt as little disposed to go to rest as
I ever did in my life. The thunder was still lingering
among the mountains in the midst of which
our inn was placed. Sometimes it seemed nearer,
and at other times further off; but it never left off
altogether, except for a few minutes at a time.
I was quite unable to shake off a succession of
painful ideas which persistently besieged my
mind.

"It is hardly necessary to add that I thought
from time to time of my travelling-companion
in the next room. His image was almost continually
before me. He had been dull and depressed
all the evening, and when we parted
for the night there was a look in his eyes
which I could not get out of my memory.

"There was a door between our rooms, and the
partition dividing them was not very solid; and
yet I had heard no sound since I parted from
him which could indicate that he was there at
all, much less that he was awake and stirring.
I was in a mood, sir, which made this silence
terrible to me, and so many foolish fancies—- as
that he was lying there dead, or in a fit, or what
not—- took possession of me, that at last I could
bear it no longer. I went to the door, and, after
listening, very attentively but quite in vain, for
any sound, I at last knocked pretty sharply.
There was no answer. Feeling that longer suspense
would be unendurable, I, without more
ceremony, turned the handle and went in.

"It was a great bare room, and so imperfectly
lighted by a single candle that it was almost
impossible—- except when the lightning flashed
—- to see into its great dark corners. A small
rickety bedstead stood against one of the walls,
shrouded by yellow cotton curtains, passed
through a great iron ring in the ceiling. There
was, for all other furniture, an old chest of
drawers which served also as a washing-stand,