Coming out of the darker room, the
sharp, low light blinded him a little, so that he saw without any certainty
of perception; yet he seemed to have something before him not altogether
unfamiliar, giving him a suggestion as of something he had known once,
perhaps ought now to recognize, but had forgotten: the reality of it seemed
to be obscured by the strange autumnal light entering almost horizontally.
Concluding himself oddly affected by the sight of a room he had regarded
with some awe in his childhood, and had not set foot in it for a long time,
he drew a little nearer to the bed, to look closer at the face of this
paragon of servants, whose loss was causing his mother a sorrow so
unreasonably poignant.
The sense of her resemblance to some one grew upon him; but not yet had he
begun to recognize the death-changed countenance; he became assured only
that he _had_ seen that still face before, and that, would she but open
those eyes, he should know at once who she was.
Then the true suspicion flashed upon him: good God! _could it be_ the dead
Isy? Of course not! It was the merest illusion! a nonsensical fancy, caused
by the irregular mingling of the light and darkness! In the daytime he
could not have been so befooled by his imagination! He had always known the
clearness, both physical and mental, with which he saw everything!
Nevertheless, the folly had power to fix him staring where he stood, with
his face leant close to the face of the dead.
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