ong to the equipment of a scholar
surrounded the table. This table was used for writing evidently, for
there were pens lying on it and a human skull used as an inkstand, the
fluid being held in the cavities of the eyes. I had seated myself in
a chair and was waiting for some sign from the little old man who had
brought me there. But where was he? Turning around I looked about me on
all sides. He had left the room during my momentary preoccupation. I
had scarcely seated myself again when a door opened and a venerable
man, with snow-white hair and a smooth-shaven face that was pale and
wrinkled, walked slowly toward me. I rose to my feet and advanced a step
or two. He came forward without speaking and looked steadily into my
eyes. Slowly and sadly he turned his gaze upon the floor, apparently in
deep thought. A sigh broke from his lips as if some memory, stirring in
the caves of thought, had driven it forth.

The man who stood before me had deep-set gray eyes, almost concealed by
long shaggy brows not yet entirely white. His lips were thin, and drawn
closely together above a square, protruding chin. The nose was aquiline
and prominent, with large, but finely cut nostrils. Altogether his was
the most picturesque face I had ever seen. Suddenly he made an effort to
clear his throat.

"Kendric's child," said he, in a strange, low voice. He spoke slowly
and with great difficulty, as if his organs of speech were partially
paralyzed. I would not have been able to distinguish his words but for
the silence of that room and the unnatural keenness of my hearing. He
still stood motionless, his eyes upon the floor. I knew that he was
thinking of my father.

"Dead?" he asked, looking at me inquisitively.

"He is dead," I answered.

"And my man--did he give you the letter?"

"Yes; he is dead also."

"Dead? I thought he was dead," he repeated, slowly and thoughtfully. "I,
too, am dead--long dead."

The words were separated by considerable pauses, and he faced me almost
sternly as he finished speaking them. I stood staring at him, dumb with
surprise.

"Why--how did you come here?"

He sank into a chair, exhausted with the effort it had cost him to
speak. My presence seemed to irritate and annoy him. Why, indeed, had
I come there? What should I say in reply to his question? I tried to
think.

"Knaves! Knaves!" said my uncle, in a shrill voice, rushing toward me.
In a moment he had thrown his arms about my neck and was sobbin