Chapter 4

[Endnote: 1]

The children, after this conversation, often introduced the old English
mansion into their dreams and little romances, which all imaginative
children are continually mixing up with their lives, making the
commonplace day of grown people a rich, misty, glancing orb of fairy-
land to themselves. Ned, forgetting or not realizing the long lapse of
time, used to fancy the true heir wandering all this while in America,
and leaving a long track of bloody footsteps behind him; until the
period when, his sins being expiated (whatever they might be), he
should turn back upon his steps and return to his old native home. And
sometimes the child used to look along the streets of the town where he
dwelt, bending his thoughtful eyes on the ground, and think that
perhaps some time he should see the bloody footsteps there, betraying
that the wanderer had just gone that way.

As for little Elsie, it was her fancy that the hero of the legend still
remained imprisoned in that dreadful secret chamber, which had made a
most dread impression on her mind; and that there he was, forgotten all
this time, waiting, like a naughty child shut up in a closet, until
some one should come to unlock the door. In the pitifulness of her
disposition, she once proposed to little Ned that, as soon as they grew
big enough, they should set out in quest of the old house, and find
their way into it, and find the secret chamber, and let the poor
prisoner out. So they lived a good deal of the time in a half-waking
dream, partly conscious of the fantastic nature of their ideas, yet
with these ideas almost as real to them as the facts of the natural
world, which, to children, are at first transparent and unsubstantial.

The Doctor appeared to have a pleasure, or a purpose, in keeping his
legend forcibly in their memories; he often recurred to the subject of
the old English family, and was continually giving new details about
its history, the scenery in its neighborhood, the aspect of the
mansion-house; indicating a very intense interest in the subject on his
own part, of which this much talk seemed the involuntary overflowing.

There was, however, an affection mingled with this sentiment. It
appeared to be his unfortunate necessity to let his thoughts dwell very
constantly upon a subject that was hateful to him, with which this old
English estate and manor-house and family were somehow connected; and,
moreover, had he spoken thus to older and more experienced auditors,
they might have detected in the manner and matter of his talk, a
certain hereditary reverence and awe, the growth of ages, mixed up with
a newer hatred, impelling him to deface and destroy what, at the same
time, it was his deepest impulse to bow before. The love