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"No. That was another thing. It stood before my disturbed sense

of sight, but it never moved. The phantom that my mind pursued,

was another and more real child. Of her outward appearance I know

no more than that she was like her mother. The other had that

likeness too--as you have--but was not the same. Can you follow

me, Lucie? Hardly, I think? I doubt you must have been a solitary

prisoner to understand these perplexed distinctions."

His collected and calm manner could not prevent her blood from

running cold, as he thus tried to anatomise his old condition.

"In that more peaceful state, I have imagined her, in the

moonlight, coming to me and taking me out to show me that the

home of her married life was full of her loving remembrance of

her lost father. My picture was in her room, and I was in her

prayers. Her life was active, cheerful, useful; but my poor

history pervaded it all."

"I was that child, my father, I was not half so good, but in my

love that was I."