I do
not think any mortal suspects it, except, maybe, my daughter Rhoda. It
comes and disappears, and comes again. I kept my pleasant secret for a
long time, but at last I let it slip, and committed myself fortunately,
to but one person, and that my daughter; and, even so, I hardly think she
understood me. I recollected myself before I had disclosed the grotesque
and infernal chimera that haunts me." Marston paused. He was stooped forward, and looking upon the floor of the
vehicle, so that his companion could not see his countenance. A silence
ensued, which was interrupted by Marston, who once more resumed. "Sir," said he, "I know not why, but I have longed, intensely longed,
for some trustworthy ear into which to pour this horrid secret; why I
repeat, I cannot tell, for I expect no sympathy, and hate compassion. It
is, I suppose, the restless nature of the devil that is in me; but, be it
what it may, I will speak to you, but to you only, for the present, at
least, to you alone." Doctor Danvers again assured him that he might repose the most entire
confidence in his secrecy. "The human mind, I take it, must have either comfort in the past or hope
in the future," he continued, "otherwise it is in danger. To me, sir, the
past is intolerably repulsive; one boundless, barren, and hideous
Golgotha of dead hopes and murdered opportunities; the future, still
blacker and more furious, peopled with dreadful features of horror and
menace, and losing itself in utter darkness. Sir, I do not exaggerate. Between such a past and such a future I stand upon this miserable
present; and the only comfort I still am capable of feeling is, that no
human being pities me; that I stand aloof from the insults of compassion
and the hypocrisies of sympathetic morality; and that I can safely defy
all the respectable scoundrels in Christendom to enhance, by one
feather's weight, the load which I myself have accumulated, and which I
myself hourly and unaided sustain." Doctor Danvers here introduced a word or two in the direction of their
former conversation. "No, sir, there is no comfort from that quarter either," said Marston,
bitterly; "you but cast your seeds, as the parable terms your teaching,
upon the barren sea, in wasting them on me. My fate, be it what it may,
is as irrevocably fixed, as though I were dead and judged a hundred
years ago. "This cursed dream," he resumed abruptly, "that everyday enslaves me more
and more, has reference to that--that occurrence about Wynston
Berkley--he is the hero of the hellish illusion. At certain times, sir,
it seems to me as if he, though dead, were still invested with a sort of
spurious life; going about unrecognized, except by me, in squalor and
contempt, and whispering away my fame and life; laboring with the
malignant industry of a fiend to involve me in the meshes of that special
perdition from which alone I shrink, and to which this emissary of hell
seems to have predestined me. Sir, this is a monstrous and hideous
extravagance, a delusion, but, after all, no more than a trick of the
imagination; the reason, the judgment, is untouched. I cannot choose but
see all the damned phantasmagoria, but I do not believe it real, and this
is the difference between my case and--and--madness!" They were now entering the suburbs of Chester, and Doctor Danvers, pained
and shocked beyond measure by this unlooked-for disclosure, and not
knowing what remark or comfort to offer, relieved his temporary
embarrassment by looking from the window, as though attracted by the
flash of the lamps, among which the vehicle was now moving. Marston,
however, laid his hand upon his arm, and thus recalled him, for a moment,
to a forced attention. "It must seem strange to you, Doctor, that I should trust this cursed
secret to your keeping," he said; "and, truth to say, it seems so to
myself. I cannot account for the impulse, the irresistible power of which
has forced me to disclose the hateful mystery to you, but the fact is
this, beginning like a speck, this one idea has gradually darkened and
dilated, until it has filled my entire mind. The solitary consciousness
of the gigantic mastery it has established there had grown intolerable; I
must have told it. The sense of solitude under this aggressive and
tremendous delusion was agony, hourly death to my soul. That is the
secret of my talkativeness; my sole excuse for plaguing you with the
dreams of a wretched hypochondriac." Doctor Danvers assured him that no apologies were needed, and was only
restrained from adding the expression of that pity which he really felt,
by the fear of irritating a temper so full of bitterness, pride and
defiance. A few minutes more, and the coach having reached its
destination, they bid one another farewell, and parted. At that time there resided in a decent mansion about a mile from the town
of Chester, a dapper little gentleman, whom we shall call Doctor Parkes. This gentleman was the proprietor and sole professional manager of a
private asylum for the insane and enjoyed a high reputation, and a
proportionate amount of business, in his melancholy calling. It was about
the second day after the conversation we have just sketched, that this
little gentleman, having visited, according to his custom, all his
domestic patients, was about to take his accustomed walk in his somewhat
restricted pleasure grounds, when his servant announced a visitor. "A gentleman," he repeated; "you have seen him before--eh?" "No, sir," replied the man; "he is in the study, sir." "Ha! a professional call. Well, we shall see." So saying, the little gentleman summoned his gravest look, and hastened
to the chamber of audience. On entering he found a man dressed well, but gravely, having in his
air and manner something of high breeding. In countenance striking,
dark-featured, and stern, furrowed with the lines of pain or
thought, rather than of age, although his dark hairs were largely
mingled with white. The physician bowed, and requested the stranger to take a chair; he,
however, nodded slightly and impatiently, as if to intimate an
intolerance of ceremony, and, advancing a step or two, said abruptly--

"My name, sir, is Marston; I have come to give you a patient." The doctor bowed with a still deeper inclination, and paused for a
continuance of the communication thus auspiciously commenced. "You are Dr. Parkes, I take it for granted," said Marston, in the
same tone. "Your most obedient, humble servant, sir," replied he, with the polite
formality of the day, and another grave bow. "Doctor," demanded Marston, fixing his eye upon him sternly, and
significantly tapping his own forehead, "can you stay execution?" The physician looked puzzled, hesitated, and at last requested his
visitor to be more explicit.