'You say you know Springfield,' I said; 'what did you mean by that?'
'I mean,—I have met him before somewhere.'
'Where?'
'I don't know. I only know I have. Do you remember that time over in
France, when he made that strange noise?'
I nodded.
'It was an old Indian cry. It was a cry that always means vengeance. It was he who made it,—do you remember? Afterwards I saw his face. I knew then I had seen him somewhere, but where, I don't know. Oh, if only this thick veil of the past could be turned aside, and I could see! Oh, if I could only remember!—but I can't. I tell you, that man knows me—he remembers. Did you watch his eyes when he looked at me? And I am helpless, helpless!—and she is so young, so beautiful, so pure. I can't understand it at all, and yet, when I saw her this evening for the first time, as she stood in the doorway with the light of the setting sun upon her face—— I am so helpless,' he continued. 'I can do nothing. Besides——'
As I have said, I had learnt to love Paul Edgecumbe, and although I realized his madness as much as he did, I wanted to lift the weight of care from his life.
'If what you told me some months ago is true, there is no room for despair,' I urged.
'What did I tell you?'
'You told me you had found a great secret,' I replied; 'that you had become sure of Almighty God. If that is true, there is no room for hopelessness; despair's out of the question.'