It was near one o'clock. The storm had a little subsided, and I took a less
agitated and more confident view of Uncle Silas than I had at an earlier
hour of that evening.
'And what do you think of him?' I asked.
Lady Knollys drummed on the table with her finger points as she looked into
the fire.
'I don't understand metaphysics, my dear, nor witchcraft. I sometimes
believe in the supernatural, and sometimes I don't. Silas Ruthyn is himself
alone, and I can't define him, because I don't understand him. Perhaps
other souls than human are sometimes born into the world, and clothed in
flesh. It is not only about that dreadful occurrence, but nearly always
throughout his life; early and late he has puzzled me. I have tried in vain
to understand him. But at one time of his life I am sure he was awfully
wicked--eccentric indeed in his wickedness--gay, frivolous, secret, and
dangerous. At one time I think he could have made poor Austin do almost
anything; but his influence vanished with his marriage, never to return
again. No; I don't understand him. He always bewildered me, like a shifting
face, sometimes smiling, but always sinister, in an unpleasant dream.
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