‘Or, like the mole or squint that re-appears in successive generations, the legacy of some long-forgotten ancestor,’ I said--and several things unexplained occurred to me as possibly having a common solution. ‘I find, however,’ said Charley, ‘that the name of Cumbermede is not mentioned in your papers more than about a hundred years back--as far as I have yet made out.’ ‘That is odd,’ I returned, ‘seeing that in the same chest we find that book with my name, surname and Christian, and the date 1630.’ ‘It is strange,’ he acquiesced, ‘and will perhaps require a somewhat complicated theory to meet it.’ We began to talk of other matters, and, naturally enough, soon came to Clara. Charley was never ready to talk of her--indeed, avoided the subject in a way that continued to perplex me. ‘I confess to you, Charley,’ I said, ‘there is something about her I do not and cannot understand. It seems to me always as if she were--I will not say underhand--but as if she had some object in view--some design upon you--’ ‘Upon me!’ exclaimed Charley, looking at me suddenly and with a face from which all the colour had fled. ‘No, no, Charley, not that,’ I answered, laughing. ‘I used the word impersonally. I will be more cautious. One would think we had been talking about a witch--or a demon-lady--you are so frightened at the notion of her having you in her eye.’ He did not seem altogether relieved, and I caught an uneasy glance seeking my countenance. ‘But isn’t she charming?’ I went on. ‘It is only to you I could talk about her so. And after all it may be only a fancy.’ He kept his face downwards and aside, as if he were pondering and coming to no conclusion. The silence grew and grew until expectation ceased, and when I spoke again it was of something different. My reader may be certain from all this that I was not in love with Clara. Her beauty and liveliness, with a gaiety which not seldom assumed the form of grace, attracted me much, it is true; but nothing interferes more with the growth of any passion than a spirit of questioning, and, that once roused, love begins to cease and pass into pain. Few, perhaps, could have arrived at the point of admiration I had reached without falling instantly therefrom into an abyss of absorbing passion; but with me, inasmuch as I searched every feeling in the hope of finding in it the everlasting, there was in the present case a reiterated check, if not indeed recoil; for I was not and could not make myself sure that Clara was upright;--perhaps the more commonplace word _straightforward_ would express my meaning better.