Here have I been giving myself up to a phantom--an
empty illusion--and now it's all over. My eyes are open."
"You may as well open my eyes too; for I'll be hanged if I can see my
way through this!"
"Strange! strange! strange!" continued Dacres, in a kind of soliloquy,
not noticing Hawbury's words. "How a man will sometimes forget
realities, and give himself up to dreams! It was my dream of the
child-angel that so turned my brain. I must see her no more."
"Very well, old boy," said Hawbury. "Now speak Chinese a little for
variety. I'll understand you quite as well. I will, by Jove!"
"And then, for a fellow that's had an experience like mine--before and
since," continued Dacres, still speaking in the tone of one who was
meditating aloud--"to allow such an idea even for a moment to take
shape in his brain! What an utter, unmitigated, unmanageable, and
unimprovable idiot, ass, dolt, and blockhead! Confound such a man! I
say; confound him!"
[Illustration: "CONFOUND SUCH A MAN! I SAY."]
And as Dacres said this he brought his fist down upon the table near
him with such an energetic crash that a wine-flask was sent spinning
on the floor, where its ruby contents splashed out in a pool,
intermingled with fragments of glass.
Dacres was startled by the crash, and looked at it for a while in
silence. Then he raised his head and looked at his friend. Hawbury
encountered his glance without any expression. He merely sat and
smoked and passed his fingers through his pendent whiskers.
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