'I have a singular feeling toward this watch--a kind of affection for it; I like to have it about me, though partly from its weight, and partly for a rea-son I shall now explain, I seldom carry it. The reason is this: Every evening when I have it with me I feel an unaccountable desire to open and con-sult it, even if I can think of no reason for wishing to know the time. But if I yield to it, the moment my eyes rest upon the dial I am filled with a myste-rious apprehension--a sense of imminent calamity.
And this is the more insupportable the nearer it is to eleven o'clock--by this watch, no matter what the actual hour may be. After the hands have regis-tered eleven the desire to look is gone; I am entirely indifferent. Then I can consult the thing as often as I like, with no more emotion than you feel in looking at your own. Naturally I have trained myself not to look at that watch in the evening before eleven; nothing could induce me. Your insistence this evening upset me a trifle. I felt very much as Isuppose an opium-eater might feel if his yearning for his special and particular kind of hell were rein-forced by opportunity and advice.
'Now that is my story, and I have told it in the interest of your trumpery science; but if on any evening hereafter you observe me wearing this damnable watch, and you have the thoughtfulness to ask me the hour, I shall beg leave to put you to the inconvenience of being knocked down.'
His humour did not amuse me. I could see that in relating his delusion he was again somewhat dis-turbed. His concluding smile was positively ghastly, and his eyes had resumed something more than their old restlessness; they shifted hither and thither about the room with apparent aimlessness and I fancied had taken on a wild expression, such as is sometimes observed in cases of dementia. Perhaps this was my own imagination, but at any rate I was now persuaded that my friend was afflicted with a most singular and interesting monomania. Without, Itrust, any abatement of my affectionate solicitude for him as a friend, I began to regard him as a pa-tient, rich in possibilities of profitable study. Why not? Had he not described his delusion in the in-terest of science? Ah, poor fellow, he was doing more for science than he knew: not only his story but himself was in evidence. I should cure him if I could, of course, but first I should make a little experiment in psychology--nay, the experiment itself might be a step in his restoration.
'That is very frank and friendly of you, Bartine,'
I said cordially, 'and I'm rather proud of your con-fidence. It is all very odd, certainly. Do you mind showing me the watch?'
He detached it from his waistcoat, chain and all, and passed it to me without a word. The case was of gold, very thick and strong, and singularly en-graved. After closely examining the dial and observ-ing that it was nearly twelve o'clock, I opened it at the back and was interested to observe an inner case of ivory, upon which was painted a miniature por-trait in that exquisite and delicate manner which was in vogue during the eighteenth century.
'Why, bless my soul!' I exclaimed, feeling a sharp artistic delight--'how under the sun did you get that done? I thought miniature painting on ivory was a lost art.'
'That,' he replied, gravely smiling, 'is not I;it is my excellent great-grandfather, the late Bram-well Olcott Bartine, Esquire, of Virginia. He was younger then than later--about my age, in fact.
It is said to resemble me; do you think so?'
