mastered, and he was obliged to look down during the remainder
of the service.

By night or by day it was the same. In the gallery of the
Parliament House, in the boxes of the play-house, in the church,
in the assembly, in the streets, suburbs, and the fields; and every
day, and every hour, from the first rencounter of the two, the
attendance became more and more constant, more inexplicable,
and altogether more alarming and insufferable, until at last
George was fairly driven from society, and forced to spend his
days in his and his father's lodgings with closed doors. Even
there, he was constantly harassed with the idea that, the next time
he lifted his eyes, he would to a certainty see that face, the most
repulsive to all his feelings of aught the earth contained. The
attendance of that brother was now become like the attendance of
a demon on some devoted being that had sold himself to
destruction; his approaches as undiscerned, and his looks as
fraught with hideous malignity. It was seldom that he saw him
either following him in the streets, or entering any house or
church after him; he only appeared in his place, George wist not
how, or whence; and, having sped so ill in his first friendly
approaches, he had never spoken to his equivocal attendant a
second time.

It came at length into George's head, as he was pondering, by
himself, on the circumstances of this extraordinary attendance,
that perhaps his brother had relented, and, though of so sullen and
unaccommodating a temper that he would not acknowledge it, or
beg a reconciliation, it might be for that very purpose that he
followed his steps night and day in that extraordinary manner. "I