A man haunted by twin ghosts, he became deeply
depressed. The inseparable spectres sat at the board with him, ate from
his platter, drank from his cup, and stood by his bedside at night. When
he recalled his supposed mother's love, he felt as though he had stolen
it. When he rallied a little under the respect and attachment of his
dependants, he felt as though he were even fraudulent in making them
happy, for that should have been the unknown man's duty and
gratification.
Gradually, under the pressure of his brooding mind, his body stooped, his
step lost its elasticity, his eyes were seldom lifted from the ground. He
knew he could not help the deplorable mistake that had been made, but he
knew he could not mend it; for the days and weeks went by, and no one
claimed his name or his possessions. And now there began to creep over
him a cloudy consciousness of often-recurring confusion in his head. He
would unaccountably lose, sometimes whole hours, sometimes a whole day
and night. Once, his remembrance stopped as he sat at the head of the
dinner-table, and was blank until daybreak. Another time, it stopped as
he was beating time to their singing, and went on again when he and his
partner were walking in the court-yard by the light of the moon, half the
night later. He asked Vendale (always full of consideration, work, and
help) how this was? Vendale only replied, "You have not been quite well;
that's all." He looked for explanation into the faces of his people.
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