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Eugene Aram — Volume 04 by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton
page 38 of 124 (30%)
"We have heard nothing more of Walter, and my father begins at times to
be seriously alarmed about him. Your account, too, corroborates that
alarm. It is strange that he has not yet visited London, and that you can
obtain no clue of him. He is evidently still in search of his lost
parent, and following some obscure and uncertain track. Poor Walter! God
speed him! The singular fate of his father, and the many conjectures
respecting him, have, I believe, preyed on Walter's mind more than he
acknowledged. Ellinor found a paper in his closet, where we had occasion
to search the other day for something belonging to my father, which was
scribbled with all the various fragments of guess or information
concerning my uncle, obtained from time to time, and interspersed with
some remarks by Walter himself, that affected me strangely. It seems to
have been from early childhood the one desire of my cousin to discover
his father's fate. Perhaps the discovery may be already made;--perhaps my
long-lost uncle may yet be present at our wedding.

"You ask me, Eugene, if I still pursue my botanical researches. Sometimes
I do; but the flower now has no fragrance--and the herb no secret, that I
care for; and astronomy, which you had just begun to teach me, pleases me
more;--the flowers charm me when you are present; but the stars speak to
me of you in absence. Perhaps it would not be so, had I loved a being
less exalted than you. Every one, even my father, even Ellinor, smile
when they observe how incessantly I think of you--how utterly you have
become all in all to me. I could not tell this to you, though I write it:
is it not strange that letters should be more faithful than the tongue?
And even your letter, mournful as it is, seems to me kinder, and dearer,
and more full of yourself, than with all the magic of your language, and
the silver sweetness of your voice, your spoken words are. I walked by
your house yesterday; the windows were closed--there was a strange air of
lifelessness and dejection about it. Do you remember the evening in which
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