them. Could I have told to any man the effect produced on me in the
museum, he would have considered me a liar or a madman. And in Sir
Philip's accusations against Margrave, there was nothing
tangible,--nothing that could bear repetition. Those accusations, if
analyzed, vanished into air. What did they imply?--that Margrave was a
magician, a monstrous prodigy, a creature exceptional to the ordinary
conditions of humanity. Would the most reckless of mortals have ventured
to bring against the worst of characters such a charge, on the authority
of a deceased witness, and to found on evidence so fantastic the awful
accusation of murder? But of all men, certainly I--a sober, practical
physician--was the last whom the public could excuse for such incredible
implications; and certainly, of all men, the last against whom any
suspicion of heinous crime would be readily entertained was that joyous
youth in whose sunny aspect life and conscience alike seemed to keep
careless holiday. But I could not overcome, nor did I attempt to reason
against, the horror akin to detestation, that had succeeded to the
fascinating attraction by which Margrave had before conciliated a liking
founded rather on admiration than esteem.

In order to avoid his visits I kept away from the study in which I had
habitually spent my mornings, and to which he had been accustomed to so
ready an access; and if he called at the front door, I directed my servant
to tell him that I was either from home or engaged. He did attempt for
the first few days to visit me as before, but when my intention to shun
him became thus manifest, desisted naturally enough, as any other man so
pointedly repelled would have done.

I abstained from all those houses in which I was likely to meet him, and
went my professional round of visits in a close carriage, so that I might
not be accosted by him in his walks.