I am not what I was. I have little faith. All about me seems changed,
and dull, and grown mechanical. Where are those flashing eyes and
conquering visages that clustered round me on the battle eve, round me,
the Lord's anointed? I see none such. They are changed, as I am. Why!
this Abidan was a host, and now he fights against me. She spoke of the
prophetess; I remember that woman was the stirring trumpet of our ranks,
and now where is she? The victim of my justice! And where is he, the
mightier far, the friend, the counsellor, the constant guide, the master
of my boyhood; the firm, the fond, the faithful guardian of all my
bright career; whose days and nights were one unbroken study to make me
glorious? Alas! I feel more like a doomed and desperate renegade than
a young hero on the eve of battle, flushed with the memory of unbroken
triumphs!
'Hah! what awful form art thou that risest from the dusky earth before
me? Thou shouldst be one I dare not name, yet will: the likeness of
Jabaster. Away! why frownest thou upon me? I did not slay thee. Do I
live, or dream, or what? I see him, ay! I see thee. I fear thee not, I
fear nothing. I am Alroy.
'Speak, oh speak! I do conjure thee, mighty spectre, speak.
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