RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_.
_May_ 2, 1907.
I had heard long ago that Second Sight is a terrible gift, even to itspossessor. I am now inclined not only to believe, but to understand it.Aunt Janet has made such a practice of it of late that I go in constantdread of discovery of my secret. She seems to parallel me all the time,whatever I may do. It is like a sort of dual existence to her; for sheis her dear old self all the time, and yet some other person with a sortof intellectual kit of telescope and notebook, which are eternally usedon me. I know they are _for_ me, too--for what she considers my good.But all the same it makes an embarrassment. Happily Second Sight cannotspeak as clearly as it sees, or, rather, as it understands. For thetranslation of the vague beliefs which it inculcates is both nebulous anduncertain--a sort of Delphic oracle which always says things which no onecan make out at the time, but which can be afterwards read in any one ofseveral ways. This is all right, for in my case it is a kind of safety;but, then, Aunt Janet is a very clever woman, and some time she herselfmay be able to understand. Then she may begin to put two and twotogether. When she does that, it will not be long before she knows morethan I do of the facts of the whole affair. And her reading of them andof the Lady of the Shroud, round whom they circle, may not be the same asmine. Well, that will be all right too. Aunt Janet loves me--God knowsI have good reason to know that all through these years--and whateverview she may take, her acts will be all I could wish. But I shall comein for a good lot of scolding, I am sure. By the way, I ought to thinkof that; if Aunt Janet scolds me, it is a pretty good proof that I oughtto be scolded. I wonder if I dare tell her all. No! It is too strange.She is only a woman, after all: and if she knew I loved . . . I wish Iknew her name, and thought--as I might myself do, only that I resistit--that she is not alive at all. Well, what she would either think ordo beats me. I suppose she would want to slipper me as she used to dowhen I was a wee kiddie--in a different way, of course.
_May_ 3, 1907.
I really could not go on seriously last night. The idea of Aunt Janetgiving me a licking as in the dear old days made me laugh so much thatnothing in the world seemed serious then. Oh, Aunt Janet is all rightwhatever comes. That I am sure of, so I needn't worry over it. A goodthing too; there will be plenty to worry about without that. I shall notcheck her telling me of her visions, however; I may learn something fromthem.
For the last four-and-twenty hours I have, whilst awake, been lookingover Aunt Janet's books, of which I brought a wheen down here. Geewhizz! No wonder the old dear is superstitious, when she is filled up tothe back teeth with that sort of stuff! There may be some truth in someof those yarns; those who wrote them may believe in them, or some ofthem, at all events. But as to coherence or logic, or any sort ofreasonable or instructive deduction, they might as well have been writtenby so many hens! These occult book-makers seem to gather only a lot ofbare, bald facts, which they put down in the most uninteresting waypossible. They go by quantity only. One story of the kind, wellexamined and with logical comments, would be more convincing to a thirdparty than a whole hecatomb of them.