past in such a fearful shape after so many years ? Macbeth slew Bancho — so no wonder that he could be haunted . . . but I . . .'
But here my mother's words became so mixed and confused, that I ceased to follow her. . . . I no longer doubted that she was in delirium.
X
The agitating effect of my mother's recital on me — any one may easily conceive! I guessed from her first word that she was talking of herself, and not any friend of hers. Her slip of the tongue confirmed my conjecture. Then this really was my father, whom I was seeking in my dream, whom I had seen awake by daylight! He had not been killed, as my mother supposed, but only wounded. And he had come to see her, and had run away, alarmed by her alarm. I suddenly understood everything: the feeling of involuntary aversion for me, which arose at times in my mother, and her perpetual melancholy, and our secluded life. ... I remember my head seemed going round, and I clutched it in both hands as though to hold it still. But one idea, as it were, nailed me down ; I resolved I must, come what may, find that
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