It will be understood that all these observations of mine
were not made in a single evening. It was not until we grew intimate and
I had been repeatedly invited to the house, that I found out how matters
stood in the family. I could not help feeling nettled at the deliberate
way in which poor Maud was put on the shelf by her elder sisters, and I
felt it my duty, as much as good manners would permit me, to take her
part, and pay somewhat more attention to her than to the two elder
daughters. This preference I saw was observed, and not looked upon very favourably
by the parents, who, I began to find out, had marked me for one of the
elder girls. I saw plainly through their schemes, and heartlessly amused
myself at their discomfiture while I paid my attentions to Maud. During
the summer I was invited to stay at the country seat of this family, and
it was here that our intimacy ripened. Here I observed the fine points
of Maud's character, in spite of all her reserve. Without being regularly in love with each other, a sympathy had grown up
between us which by others, I have no doubt, was regarded as love. We
appreciated each other's talents, and esteemed each other's characters. The family had repeatedly seen me act, and Maud, more than any of them,
seemed to appreciate my acting, while I was equally charmed at her skill
on the piano and on the harp, and with her singing. "I do not know how it is, Mr. Blackdeed," she said to me one day when we
were left alone together in the garden, "but you are the only person I
know who treats me with respect, or, indeed, like a rational being." "Indeed," said I, feigning not to have observed the way in which she was
treated by her family. "How so?" "Oh! you know very well how I am treated at home. I have seen the
surprise on your face whenever my sisters snubbed me, and saw that you
felt how unfair it was. You will not pretend that you never observed
it." "Well, Miss Maud," I replied, "your penetration is such that I cannot do
other than confess that _I have_ observed it, and that I was very much
surprised at it. I have often wondered what the reason could be." She answered with a slight sigh. "No one seems to understand me. From childhood I was ever different from
the rest. I seem to live two distinct beings--one with my family, and
before the world, and another in my own thoughts. "You will have observed my silence when in company. I am aware to what
it is generally attributed; but the fact is, that I have so little in
common with my sisters I feel that if I were to give utterance to my
ideas I should not be understood, but be considered more mad than they
think me at present; hence my silence. I never knew anyone but you who
thought even in the slightest degree like myself, and therefore to you I
feel less inclined to be reserved than to others; in fact, with you I
feel it impossible to be reserved at all. "It is as if you had some power over me to draw out my ideas--to draw me
out of myself. All my life I have longed to know someone; to have some
friend who was unlike the rest of the world, and more like myself, who
could understand me, and to whom I could pour out my thoughts, and feel
that they were not poured out upon a desert soil." "Do you know, Miss Maud," said I, "that from the very first I saw that
you were quite different to any other young lady that I had ever met
with? But far from regarding you in the light that I know your family
regard you, I conceived an immense respect for you as a being of a
higher order than the generality of young ladies. There was much, too,
that puzzled me in your character. I was convinced that you could not
but be aware that your abilities were above the ordinary, and it
surprised me much that you should care so little about showing them, or
even asserting your right against the--the tyranny, if I may say so--of
your sisters." "Well, it is my nature," she said. "What is it to me if they _do_ have
their own way in everything. I do not think it a matter worth disputing
about. I do not live in their world, nor they in mine." "And do you not long to make yourself better understood to your
sisters?" I asked, after a pause. "I should like to," she replied; "but that is impossible." "Why impossible?" I asked. "Have you ever tried to do so?" "No; but from my knowledge of their characters it would be useless." She
paused, and then added, "Do you know that I sometimes wish that I were
better suited to this world than I am? My nature is so very peculiar
that perhaps you would laugh at me were I to tell you some of my
peculiarities." "No," said I; "I do not think I should laugh at any peculiarities of
your nature, whatever they might be. Your nature is one to study gravely
and reflect upon, not to laugh at." "I mean," said she, "that my temperament is subject to certain phenomena
that many, perhaps _you_, might call hallucinations. I have never
confided this to anyone before, fearing that I should be ridiculed or
perhaps placed under the hands of some ignorant doctor." "Indeed!" I exclaimed. "I am curious to hear of what sort these
phenomena are. I take an immense interest in natural phenomena,
especially that sort connected with the temperament of individuals." "Well," she answered, "as you encourage me so far, I do not mind telling
you some of those most common to me. Ofttimes when I am alone, either in
my chamber or walking in the fields, a sort of dizziness comes over me,
and I seem to be in the midst of a bed of flowers. When I try to pluck
one they instantly vanish, and the dizziness likewise disappears. At
other times I have seen before me a wreath of stars, which lasts for two
or three minutes, then also vanishes. I have seen, too, distinctly in
the daytime the faces of certain relations of mine, long since dead, and
at night I occasionally start out of my sleep and see human forms
bending over me, and sometimes they speak to me." "It is very strange," I observed. "And have you never been able to
attribute these visions to any nervous excitement, or to any natural
cause whatever?" "No; on the contrary, they generally appear when I am most calm." I told her I had heard before of similar phenomena during, or even a
long time after, a serious illness, and that I thought in most cases
they might be attributed to an over-excitement of the brain, brought on
by indigestion or other causes. She told me that she had never had any
really serious illness in her life, though she admitted that she was
constitutionally delicate. We then went into a metaphysical discussion,
which was interrupted by the rest of the family, who came to meet us in
the garden. "I am sorry we have disturbed your _tête-à-tête_," said one of the elder
sisters, quizzingly. "It must have been quite a pleasure to have been
concealed behind the summer-house and listened to your intellectual
conversation."