if it be true that she is an orphan, surely there could be no object in supposing that any one would ‘curse her,’ especially as he declared that she was ’not without fortune,’ and that she was to be known as his adopted child.”  The niece, being a quick-witted girl, would naturally think the problem out for herself, and decide that there was something fishy involved in the mystery of these unnecessary phrases.

In dealing with his domestic complications, Nelson’s mind seems to have been in a constant whirlwind, dodging from one difficulty into another, never direct, and for ever in conflict with his true self.  He was brave and resourceful in everything that appertained to the service he adorned, and yet a shivering fear came over him now and again lest the truth concerning his attachment to his friend’s wife should be revealed.  When he was seized with these remorseful thoughts, he could not be silent; he was not possessed of the constitutional gift of reticence, and could only find relief by constant reference to the matter he wished kept secret in such a way as to cause people to put two and two together and arrive at the very truth he wished to hide.

VII

But whatever his ruling passion may have been, his belief in the Power that rules us all never forsook him.  He believed in religious forms as of a spiritual force.  He often committed himself to it, and claimed the privilege of asking for Heaven’s guidance.  Call it eccentricity or superstition, or what you like, but to him it was a reality.  One of the many amusing instances of his devotion to religious rites was the occasion when he and Lady Hamilton stood as godfather and godmother at the christening of their daughter, Horatia Nelson Thompson,[7] by which name she was baptized.  To the puritanic, orthodox mind (keeping in view all the circumstances of parentage) this will be looked upon as an act of abominable hypocrisy and sacrilege, but to him it was a pious duty.

Like all highly strung and overwrought mortals, he was often moody, depressed, and, worst of all, a victim to premonitions of his early demise.  His superstitious temperament was constantly worrying him, as did his faith in the predictions of a gipsy fortune-teller who had correctly described his career up to the year 1805, and then stopping had said, “I can see no further.”  This creepy ending of the gipsy’s tale was afflicting him with a dumb pain and depression when he unexpectedly came across his sister Catherine in London.  She referred to his worn, haggard look with a tenderness that was peculiarly her own.  He replied, “Ah!  Katty!  Katty! that gipsy!” and then relapsed into morbid silence.  The foreboding bore heavily on his mind, and the story may well make one’s heart throb with pity for the noble fellow who was so soon to fulfil his tragic destiny.  Well may we exclaim that fame seems to be the most wretched of mockeries!