They looked for
the root of this trouble in his shattered schemes of domestic bliss-
wilfully shattered by himself-but could not be satisfied of its
existence there. Some thought that their once brilliant friend was
in an incipient stage of insanity, of which his passionate impulses
had perhaps been the forerunners; others prognosticated a general
blight and gradual decline. From Roderick's own lips, they could learn
nothing. More than once, it is true, he had been heard to say,
clutching his hands convulsively upon his breast- "It gnaws me! It
gnaws me!"- but, by different auditors, a great diversity of
explanation was assigned to this ominous expression. What could it be,
that gnawed the breast of Roderick Elliston? Was it sorrow? Was it
merely the tooth of physical disease? Or, in his reckless course,
often verging upon profligacy, if not plunging into its depths, had he
been guilty of some deed, which made his bosom a prey to the
deadlier fangs of remorse? There was plausible ground for each of
these conjectures; but it must not be concealed that more than one
elderly gentleman, the victim of good cheer and slothful habits,
magisterially pronounced the secret of the whole matter to be
Dyspepsia!
Meanwhile, Roderick seemed aware how generally he had become the
subject of curiosity and conjecture, and, with a morbid repugnance
to such notice, or to any notice whatsoever, estranged himself from
all companionship.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25