rights of her own, and the affair is Henry's rather than mine. If it came to an open trial, I could almost bring myself (on general principles) to espouse her cause against Henry, my best-beloved brother though he is.
But here is another point. She must be aware of my suspicions of her: will she refuse to allude to them, or will she speak to me openly? If she does speak, trusting to my friendship for her, what should I do? I must either brutally cast her off, or become involved in her intrigue against the rest of the family. That would be a strange predicament for a retiring, unaggressive man of science like myself; and there is no telling where it might land us. I greatly prefer to stick to my time-honored rôle of on-looker. But, if I do intend to expose her, it would be much easier to do so now, before any irrevocable words have passed between us, than after she has thrown herself on my honor. If she surrenders me her sword, I cannot turn it against her. And yet, if not against her, it must be for her.
What is the matter with me? My will, as well as my judgment, seems paralyzed. I can adopt neither the active nor the passive course. I feel as if changes were going on within me, or were at hand. A few weeks ago, I recollect, my longing was for an awakening,—something to goad me out of the torpor that was benumbing me. Is it the first faint prick of the goad that I feel now? or am I about to relapse into a torpor more death-like than before? One thing or the other will happen, I am sure; but, standing here at the parting of the ways, I can hardly say which course I incline to take.
Why should I bother my head about it? When the time comes, although I shall seem to make a free choice, I shall do as has been predestined from the beginning. The conditions and events of one's past life determine his present action. What has been steers one round towards what is to be. In this sense we are creatures of fate.
Nevertheless, the future remains unknown. And that fact, which seems a disadvantage to us, is in reality our sole weapon against blind necessity. For if we saw all beforehand, we should be defeated before the struggle began; but, as it is, the surprise of the unforeseen may sometimes stimulate us to act above ourselves.
Well, then, I will cease to prophesy what may happen during the next few days or weeks. But I set out to record a piece of news which has an important bearing on the situation. The other evening, as I entered the house by the veranda, I heard a masculine voice talking in the dining-room. It was not John's voice. I felt myself grow hot and cold; and then I stood in the dining-room door, and saw Henry sitting at the table.
