“There’s a girl in the village would give five years of life for a kind word from Nicholas,” Olver pursued, considering himself meanwhile in his mirror with an air of great detachment, “but Nicholas has no eye for girls. Oh, see,” he broke off, pointing at the mirror, “my face is like seen in water,—stretched wide. I often saw it so in a spoon, but I never dreamt of so pretty a toy as this. Has it magical properties, do you think? It should have, to match its freakishness. Could I look into it, do you think, in the moonlight, and see the picture, all pale, of what you were doing, Miss Warrener, in the face of the mirror, round like another little moon itself?”
Clare was startled by his outburst, and the laughter that accompanied it. Until then she had almost forgotten that he was reputed mad.
“I’ll ask my mother,” he added, forgetting his prudence in his excitement. “Nicco does not like my learning of her, so we have to whisper it when he is away from the house, and you could not believe the things she tells me. And shows me, too. Why, I can make an object travel towards me, without touching it; and I have seen visions in a pool of water. It is our secret. Shall I show you? Watch the curtains: I will make them belly out, though no wind blows them.”
“No ...” said Clare, stretching out her hand. “If you love your brother as you appear to,” she said rapidly, “don’t do what he disapproves; don’t, Olver Lovel. I am sure he is right to disapprove; I am sure he is wise. Respect him. I am sure he deserves your respect.”
She spoke with energy. “Why?” said Olver suspiciously. “Do you know anything of such things? Would you not like to see the curtains move towards me? My mother says, that with a hair from the head of a person, she could bring that person, willy-nilly, to her. She has tried it with Nicholas, but she could not bring him. He is too strong. He is so strong, that, if he gave his mind to it, he could bring any one; yes, Miss Warrener, he could bring you. He could bring you to him on the Downs, at midnight or when he would.”
“For pity’s sake, Olver Lovel!” cried Clare.
He came close up to her.
“Don’t fear my brother, Miss Warrener. There are powers in our family,—but he does not practise them. I think he does not believe. He is scornful,—and busy. Oh, he is a fool; that girl I was telling you of, he turns away from her and half a dozen more. A dandy lad, they say, and are angry. But that is not the reason. I could tell you the reason, if I would. But I shan’t. No, Miss Warrener, I keep my counsel.”
He leered at her. “Give me your hand,” he said, catching it, “and I will show you something.”
“No,” said Clare, trying to draw it away. “Look at your bookshelves,” she added, to distract his ideas, “you are leaving them unfinished, and my father will be in presently, to ask why they are not done. If he takes it into his head to be annoyed, he will complain to your brother.”