The Legacy of Cain HTML version

13. Eunice's Diary
Not long before I left home, I heard one of our two servants telling the other about a
person who had been "bewitched." Are you bewitched when you don't understand your
own self? That has been my curious case, since I returned from the picture show. This
morning I took my drawing materials out of my box, and tried to make a portrait of
young Mr. Dunboyne from recollection. I succeeded pretty well with his frock-coat and
cane; but, try as I might, his face was beyond me. I have never drawn anything so badly
since I was a little girl; I almost felt ready to cry. What a fool I am!
This morning I received a letter from papa--it was in reply to a letter that I had written to
him--so kind, so beautifully expressed, so like himself, that I felt inclined to send him a
confession of the strange state of feeling that has come over me, and to ask him to
comfort and advise me. On second thoughts, I was afraid to do it. Afraid of papa! I am
further away from understanding myself than ever.
Mr. Dunboyne paid us a visit in the afternoon. Fortunately, before we went out.
I thought I would have a good look at him; so as to know his face better than I had known
it yet. Another disappointment was in store for me. Without intending it, I am sure, he did
what no other young man has ever done--he made me feel confused. Instead of looking at
him, I sat with my head down, and listened to his talk. His voice--this is high praise--
reminded me of papa's voice. It seemed to persuade me as papa persuades his
congregation. I felt quite at ease again. When he went away, we shook hands. He gave
my hand a little squeeze. I gave him back the squeeze--without knowing why. When he
was gone, I wished I had not done it--without knowing why, either.
I heard his Christian name for the first time to-day. Mrs. Staveley said to me: "We are
going to have a dinner-party. Shall I ask Philip Dunboyne?" I said to Mrs. Staveley: "Oh,
She is an old woman; her eyes are dim. At times, she can look mischievous. She looked
at me mischievously now. I wished I had not been so eager to have Mr. Dunboyne asked
to dinner.
A fear has come to me that I may have degraded myself. My spirits are depressed. This,
as papa tells us in his sermons, is a miserable world. I am sorry I accepted the Staveleys'
invitation. I am sorry I went to see the pictures. When that young man comes to dinner, I
shall say I have got a headache, and shall stop upstairs by myself. I don't think I like his
Christian name. I hate London. I hate everybody.
What I wrote up above, yesterday, is nonsense. I think his Christian name is perfect. I like
London. I love everybody.