urb the
Master over his books for such a little matter as bringing you and your
friend into this house?"

"Do you mean that you have brought us here without first asking leave?"
I exclaim in amazement.

The guide's face brightens; he has beaten the true state of the case
into our stupid heads at last! "That's just what I mean!" he says, with
an air of infinite relief.

The door opens before we have recovered the shock inflicted on us by
this extraordinary discovery. A little, lean, old gentleman, shrouded
in a long black dressing-gown, quietly enters the room. The guide steps
forward, and respectfully closes the door for him. We are evidently in
the presence of The Master of Books!

CHAPTER XVIII. THE DARKENED ROOM.

THE little gentleman advances to my bedside. His silky white hair flows
over his shoulders; he looks at us with faded blue eyes; he bows with a
sad and subdued courtesy, and says, in the simplest manner, "I bid you
welcome, gentlemen, to my house."

We are not content with merely thanking him; we naturally attempt to
apologize for our intrusion. Our host defeats the attempt at the outset
by making an apology on his own behalf.

"I happened to send for my servant a minute since," he proceeds, "and
I only then heard that you were here. It is a custom of the house
that nobody interrupts me over my books. Be pleased, sir, to accept
my excuses," he adds, addressing himself to me, "for not having sooner
placed myself and my household at your disposal. You have met, as I am
sorry to hear, with an accident. Will you permit me to send for medical
help? I ask the question a little abruptly, fearing that time may be of
importance, and knowing that our nearest doctor lives at some distance
from this house."

He speaks with a certain quaintly precise choice of words--more like a
man dictating a letter than holding a conversation. The subdued sadness
of his manner is reflected in the subdued sadness of his face. He and
sorrow have apparently been old acquaintances, and have become used to
each other for years past. The shadow of some past grief rests quietly
and impenetrably over the whole man; I see it in his faded blue eyes, on
his broad forehead, on his delicate lips, on his pale shriveled cheeks.
My uneasy sense of committing an intrusion on him steadily increases,
in spite of his courteous welcome. I explain to him that I am capable of
treating my own case, having been myself in practice as a medical man;