The smile faded from his face.
“Ten years ago,” he repeated thickly. “Ten years ago?”
And with his hand pressed against his forehead, he went out of the room still muttering, “Ten years ago!”...
As for me, this foolish incident has preyed on my mind and kept me from doing any satisfactory work.... September 27th.... It is true, that was also yesterday—ten years ago.
October 1.—One o’clock. A cheerful morning this has been, the sun shining brightly, and a touch of frost in the air. I put in an excellent day’s work in the library yesterday, and on the first mail this morning came a letter from Mrs. O’Brien. She says the Scarab chrysanthemums are in full bloom. I must positively run up for a day before they are gone.
As I lighted a cigar after breakfast, I happened to glance over at Arthur and was struck by a change in him. For he has changed. I ask myself if my presence has not done him good. On my arrival he seemed without energy, almost torpid, but now he is becoming restless. He wanders about the room continually and sometimes shows a disposition to talk.
Yes, I am sure he is better. I am going for my walk now, and I feel convinced that in a week’s time I shall have him accompanying me.
Five o’clock. Dusk is falling. O God! What has come over me? Am I the same man that went out of this house three hours ago? And what has happened!...