Being a Parenthetical Chapter on Doubt

Is Very Short It will perhaps be expected that, owing to this unhappy state of
affairs, Barnabas should have found sleep a stranger to his pillow;
but, on the contrary, reaching London at daybreak, he went to bed,
and there, wearied by his long ride, found a blessed oblivion from
all his cares and sorrows. Nor did he wake till the day was far spent
and evening at hand. But, with returning consciousness came Memory
to harrow him afresh, came cold Pride and glowing Anger. And with
these also was yet another emotion, and one that he had never known
till now, whose name is Doubt; doubt of himself and of his
future--that deadly foe to achievement and success--that ghoul-like
incubus which, once it fastens on a man, seldom leaves him until
courage, and hope, and confidence are dead, and nothing remains but
a foreknowledge and expectation of failure.

With this grisly spectre at his elbow Barnabas rose and dressed, and
went downstairs to make a pretence of breaking his fast.

"Sir," said Peterby, watching how he sat staring down moodily at the
table, "sir, you eat nothing."

"No, John, I'm not hungry," he answered, pushing his plate aside.
"By the way, did you find the cottage I mentioned in my note? Though,
indeed, you've had very little time."

"Yes, sir, I found one just beyond Lewisham, small, though
comfortable. Here is the key, sir."