[Redgauntlet by Sir Walter Scott]@TWC D-Link book
Redgauntlet

CHAPTER VIII
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Had he sought to make me a proselyte to his ruined cause, violence and compulsion were arguments very unlikely to prevail with any generous spirit.

But even if such were his object, of what use to him could be the acquisition of a single reluctant partisan, who could bring only his own person to support any quarrel which he might adopt?
He had claimed over me the rights of a guardian; he had more than hinted that I was in a state of mind which could not dispense with the authority of such a person.

Was this man, so sternly desperate in his purpose--he who seemed willing to take on his own shoulders the entire support of a cause which had been ruinous to thousands--was he the person that had the power of deciding on my fate?
Was it from him those dangers flowed, to secure me against which I had been educated under such circumstances of secrecy and precaution?
And if this was so, of what nature was the claim which he asserted ?--Was it that of propinquity?
And did I share the blood, perhaps the features, of this singular being ?--Strange as it may seem, a thrill of awe, which shot across my mind at that instant, was not unmingled with a wild and mysterious feeling of wonder, almost amounting to pleasure.

I remembered the reflection of my own face in the mirror at one striking moment during the singular interview of the day, and I hastened to the outward apartment to consult a glass which hung there, whether it were possible for my countenance to be again contorted into the peculiar frown which so much resembled the terrific look of Herries.

But I folded my brows in vain into a thousand complicated wrinkles, and I was obliged to conclude, either that the supposed mark on my brow was altogether imaginary, or that it could not be called forth by voluntary effort; or, in fine, what seemed most likely, that it was such a resemblance as the imagination traces in the embers of a wood fire, or among the varied veins of marble, distinct at one time, and obscure or invisible at another, according as the combination of lines strikes the eye or impresses the fancy.
While I was moulding my visage like a mad player, the door suddenly opened, and the girl of the house entered.


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