Excerpt: ...again take away that single epistle: being mine, I think I have a right to reclaim it." I felt raillery in his words: it made me grave and quiet; but I folded up the letter and covered it from sight. "You may hide it, but I can possess it any moment I choose. You don't know my skill in sleight of hand; I might practise as a conjuror if I liked. Mamma says sometimes, too, that I have a harmonizing property of tongue and eye; but you never saw that in me-did you, Lucy?" "Indeed-indeed-when you were a mere boy I used to see both: far more then than now-for now you are strong, and strength dispenses with subtlety. But still, -Dr. John, you have what they call in this country 'un air fin, ' that nobody can, mistake. Madame Beck saw it, and--" "And liked it," said he, laughing, "because she has it herself. But, Lucy, give me that letter-you don't really care for it." To this provocative speech I made no answer. Graham in mirthful mood must not be humoured too far. Just now there was a new sort of smile playing about his lips-very sweet, but it grieved me somehow-a new sort of light sparkling in his eyes: not hostile, but not reassuring. I rose to go-I bid him good-night a little sadly. His sensitiveness-that peculiar, apprehensive, detective faculty of his-felt in a moment the unspoken complaint-the scarce-thought reproach. He asked quietly if I was offended. I shook my head as implying a negative. "Permit me, then, to speak a little seriously to you before you go. You are in a highly nervous state. I feel sure from what is apparent in your look and manner, however well controlled, that whilst alone this evening in that dismal, perishing sepulchral garret-that dungeon under the leads, smelling of damp and mould, rank with phthisis and catarrh: a place you never ought to enter-that you saw, or thought you saw, some appearance peculiarly calculated to impress the imagination. I know that you are not, nor ever were, subject to...