In a Glass Darkly Read Free Page B

asked.
    "In his profession," he answered.
    I smiled.
    "I mean this," he said: "he seems to me, one half, blind—I mean one
half of all he looks at is dark—preternaturally bright and vivid all
the rest; and the worst of it is, it seems
wilful
. I can't get him—I
mean he won't—I've had some experience of him as a physician, but I
look on him as, in that sense, no better than a paralytic mind, an
intellect half dead. I'll tell you—I know I shall some time—all about
it," he said, with a little agitation. "You stay some months longer in
England. If I should be out of town during your stay for a little time,
would you allow me to trouble you with a letter?"
    "I should be only too happy," I assured him.
    "Very good of you. I am so utterly dissatisfied with Harley."
    "A little leaning to the materialistic school," I said.
    "A
mere
materialist," he corrected me; "you can't think how that sort
of thing worries one who knows better. You won't tell any one—any of my
friends you know—that I am hippish; now, for instance, no one knows—not
even Lady Mary—that I have seen Dr. Harley, or any other doctor. So
pray don't mention it; and, if I should have any threatening of an
attack, you'll kindly let me write, or, should I be in town, have a
little talk with you."
    I was full of conjecture, and unconsciously I found I had fixed my eyes
gravely on him, for he lowered his for a moment, and he said:
    "I see you think I might as well tell you now, or else you are forming a
conjecture; but you may as well give it up. If you were guessing all the
rest of your life, you will never hit on it."
    He shook his head smiling, and over that wintry sunshine a black cloud
suddenly came down, and he drew his breath in, through his teeth as men
do in pain.
    "Sorry, of course, to learn that you apprehend occasion to consult any
of us; but, command me when and how you like, and I need not assure you
that your confidence is sacred."
    He then talked of quite other things, and in a comparatively cheerful
way and after a little time, I took my leave.

Chapter V
— Dr. Hesselius is Summoned to Richmond
*
    We parted cheerfully, but he was not cheerful, nor was I. There are
certain expressions of that powerful organ of spirit—the human
face—which, although I have seen them often, and possess a doctor's
nerve, yet disturb me profoundly. One look of Mr. Jennings haunted me. It
had seized my imagination with so dismal a power that I changed my plans
for the evening, and went to the opera, feeling that I wanted a change of
ideas.
    I heard nothing of or from him for two or three days, when a note in his
hand reached me. It was cheerful, and full of hope. He said that he had
been for some little time so much better—quite well, in fact—that he
was going to make a little experiment, and run down for a month or so to
his parish, to try whether a little work might not quite set him up.
There was in it a fervent religious expression of gratitude for his
restoration, as he now almost hoped he might call it.
    A day or two later I saw Lady Mary, who repeated what his note had
announced, and told me that he was actually in Warwickshire, having
resumed his clerical duties at Kenlis; and she added, "I begin to think
that he is really perfectly well, and that there never was anything the
matter, more than nerves and fancy; we are all nervous, but I fancy
there is nothing like a little hard work for that kind of weakness, and
he has made up his mind to try it. I should not be surprised if he did
not come back for a year."
    Notwithstanding all this confidence, only two days later I had this
note, dated from his house off Piccadilly:
Dear Sir,—I have returned disappointed. If I should feel at all
    able to see you, I shall write to ask you kindly to call. At
    present, I am too low, and, in fact, simply unable to say all I wish
    to say. Pray don't mention my name to my friends. I can see no one.
    By-and-by, please God, you shall hear from me. I mean to take a