And
if so, they might perhaps occasionally conceive a fantastic attachment
to a human being, and companion him silently as the dog companions his
master. He might have such a companion, whose nature he could not
comprehend, whose object in seeking him out he could not guess. Perhaps
it felt affection toward him; perhaps, on the other hand, enmity. A
lover, or a spy--it might be either. Or it might have no definite
purpose, but simply drift near him in the air, as some human beings
drift feebly along together through life, because they have long ago
loved each other, or thought each other useful, or fancied, in some
moment of madness, that God meant them for each other. It might be an
aimless, dreary soul, unable to be gone from sheer dulness of purpose--a
soul without temperament, without character.
As this thought crossed Julian's mind he happened to glance at the front
of a shop on his left, and against the iron shutters the flame was dimly
but distinctly outlined. He stopped at once to look at it, but even as he
stopped it was gone. Then he sternly brought himself back from the vague
regions of fancy, and was angry that he had permitted himself to wander
in them like a child lost in the forest. He bent down and patted Rip,
and sought to wrench his mind from its wayward course, and to thrust it
forcibly into its accustomed groove of healthy sanity.
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