point of view）； I can only describe him as being an unusually
handsome man。 A painter would have reveled in him as a model for
St。 John。 And a young girl； ignorant of what the Oriental robe
hid from view； would have said to herself； the instant she looked
at him； 〃Here is the hero of my dreams！〃
His blue eyeslarge as the eyes of a woman； clear as the eyes of
a childrested on me the moment I turned toward him； with a
strangely varying play of expression； which at once interested
and perplexed me。
Now there was doubtuneasy； painful doubtin the look； and now
again it changed brightly to approval； so open and unrestrained
that a vain woman might have fancied she had made a conquest of
him at first sight。 Suddenly a new emotion seemed to take
possession of him。 His eyes sank； his head drooped； he lifted his
hands with a gesture of regret。 He muttered and murmured to
himself； pursuing some secret and melancholy train of thought；
which seemed to lead him further and further away from present
objects of interest； and to plunge him deeper and deeper in
troubled recollections of the past。 Here and there I caught some
of the words。 Little by little I found myself trying to fathom
what was darkly passing in this strange man's mind。
〃A far more charming face；〃 I heard him say。 〃But nonot a more
beautiful figure。 What figure was ever more beautiful than hers？
Somethingbut not allof her enchanting grace。 Where is the
resemblance which has brought her back to me？ In the pose of the
figure； perhaps。 In the movement of the figure； perhaps。 Poor
martyred angel！ What a life！ And what a death！ what a death！〃
Was he comparing me with the victim of the poisonwith my
husband's first wife？ His words seemed to justify the conclusion。
If I were right； the dead woman had evidently been a favorite
with him。 There was no misinterpreting the broken tones of his
voice when he spoke of her： he had admired her； living； he
mourned her； dead。 Supposing that I could prevail upon myself to
admit this extraordinary person into my confidence； what would be
the result？ Should I be the gainer or the loser by the
resemblance which he fancied he had discovered？ Would the sight
of me console him or pain him？ I waited eagerly to hear more on
the subject of the first wife。 Not a word more escaped his lips。
A new change came over him。 He lifted his head with a start； and
looked about him as a weary man might look if he was suddenly
disturbed in a deep sleep。
〃What have I done？〃 he said。 〃Have I been letting my mind drift
again？〃 He shuddered and sighed。 〃Oh； that house of Gleninch！〃 he
murmured； sadly； to himself。 〃Shall I never get away from it in
my thoughts？ Oh； that house of Gleninch！〃
To my infinite disappointment； Mrs。 Macallan checked the further
revelation of what was passing in his mind。
Something in the tone and manner of his allusion to her son's
country…house seemed to have offended her。 She interposed sharply
and decisively。
〃Gently； my friend； gently！〃 she said。 〃I don't think you quite
know what you are talking about。〃
His great blue eyes flashed at her fiercely。 With one turn of his
hand he brought his chair close at her side。 The next instant he
caught her by the arm； and forced her to bend to him； until he
could whisper in her ear。 He was violently agitated。 His whisper
was loud enough to make itself heard where I was sitting at the
time。
〃I don't know what I am talking about？〃 he repeated； with his
eyes fixed attentively； not on my mother…in…law； but on me。 〃You
shortsighted old woman！ where are your spectacles？ Look at her！
Do you see no resemblancethe figure； not the face！do you see
no resemblance there to Eustace's first wife？〃
〃Pure fancy！〃 rejoined Mrs。 Macallan。 〃I see nothing of the
sort。〃
He shook her impatiently。
〃Not so loud！〃 he whispered。 〃She will hear you。〃
〃I have heard you both；〃 I said。 〃You need have no fear； Mr。
Dexter； of speaking before me。 I know that my husband had a first
wife； and I know how miserably she died。 I have read the Trial。〃
〃You have read the life and death of a martyr！〃 cried Miserrimus
Dexter。 He suddenly wheeled his chair my way； he bent over me；
his eyes filled with tears。 〃Nobody appreciated her at her true
value；〃 he said； 〃but me。 Nobody but me！ nobody but me！〃
Mrs。 Macallan walked away impatiently to the end of the room。
〃When you are ready； Valeria； I am；〃 she said。 〃We cannot keep
the servants and the horses waiting much longer in this bleak
place。〃
I was too deeply interested in leading Miserrimus Dexter to
pursue the subject on which he had touched to be willing to leave
him at that moment。 I pretended not to have heard Mrs。 Macallan。
I laid my hand； as if by accident； on the wheel…chair to keep him
near me。
〃You showed me how highly you esteemed that poor lady in your
evidence at the Trial；〃 I said。 〃I believe； Mr。 Dexter； you have
ideas of your own about the mystery of her death？〃
He had been looking at my hand； resting on the arm of his chair；
until I ventured on my question。 At that he suddenly raised his
eyes； and fixed them with a frowning and furtive suspicion on my
face。
〃How do you know I have ideas of my own？〃 he asked； sternly。
〃I know it from reading the Trial；〃 I answered。 〃The lawyer who
cross…examined you spoke almost in the very words which I have
just used。 I had no intention of offending you； Mr。 Dexter。〃
His face cleared as rapidly as it had clouded。 He smiled； and
laid his hand on mine。 His touch struck me cold。 I felt every
nerve in me shivering under it； I drew my hand away quickly。
〃I beg your pardon；〃 he said； 〃if I have misunderstood you。 I
_have_ ideas of my own about that unhappy lady。 〃He paused and
looked at me in silence very earnestly。 〃Have _you_ any ideas？〃
he asked。 〃Ideas about her life？ or about her death？〃
I was deeply interested； I was burning to hear more。 It might
encourage him to speak if I were candid with him。 I answered；
〃Yes。〃
〃Ideas which you have mentioned to any one？〃 he went on。
〃To no living creature；〃 I replied〃as yet。〃
〃This very strange！〃 he said； still earnestly reading my face。
〃What interest can _you_ have in a dead woman whom you never
knew？ Why did you ask me that question just now？ Have you any
motive in coming here to see me？〃
I boldly acknowledged the truth。 I said； 〃I have a motive。〃
〃Is it connected with Eustace Macallan's first wife？〃
〃It is。〃
〃With anything that happened in her lifetime？〃
〃No。〃
〃With her death？〃
〃Yes。〃
He suddenly clasped his hands with a wild gesture of despair； and
then pressed them both on his head； as if he were struck by some
sudden pain。
〃I can't hear it to…night！〃 he said。 〃I would give worlds to hear
it； but I daren't。 I should lose all hold over myself in the
state I am in now。 I am not equal to raking up the horror and the
mystery of the past； I have not courage enough to open the grave
of the martyred dead。 Did you hear me when you came here？ I have
an immense imagination。 It runs riot at times。 It makes an actor
of me。 I play the parts of all the heroes that ever lived。 I feel
their characters。 I merge myself in their individualities。 For
the time I _am_ the man I fancy myself to be。 I can't help it。 I
am obliged to do it。 If I restrained my imagination when the fit
is on me； I should go mad。 I let myself loose。 It lasts for
hours。 It leaves me with my energies worn out； with my
sensibilities frightfully acute。 Rouse any melancholy or terrible
associations in me at such times； and I am capable of hysterics；
I am capable of screaming。 You heard me scream。 You shall _not_
see me in hysterics。 No； Mrs。 Valeriano； you innocent
reflection of the dead and goneI would not frighten you for the
world。 Will you come here to…morrow in the daytime？ I have got a
chaise and a pony。 Ariel； my delicate Ariel； can drive。 She shall
call at Mamma Macallan's and fetch you。 We will talk to…morrow；
when I am fit for it。 I am dying to hear you。 I will be fit for
you in the morning。 I will be civil； intelligent； communicative；
in the morning。 No more of it now。 Away with the subjectthe too
exciting； the too interesting subject！ I must compose myself or
my brains will explode in my head。 Music is the true narcotic for
excitable brains。 My harp！ my harp！〃
He rushed away in his chair to the far end of the room； passing
Mrs。 Macallan as she returned to me； bent on hastening our
departure。
〃Come！〃 said the old lady； irritably。 〃You have seen him； and he
has made a good show of himself。 More of him might be tiresome。
Come away。〃
The chair returned to us more slowly。 Miserrimus Dexter was
working it with one hand only。 In the other he held a harp of a
pattern which I had hitherto only seen in pictures。 The strings
were few in number； and the instrument was so small that I could
have held it easily on my lap。 It was the ancient harp of the
pictured Muses and the legendary Welsh bards。
〃Good…night； Dexter；〃 said Mrs。 Macallan。
He held up one hand imperatively。
〃Wait！〃 he said。 〃Let her hear me sing。〃 He turned to me。 〃I
decline to be indebted to other people for my poetry and my
music；〃 he went on。 〃I compose my own poetry and my own music。 I
improvise。 Give me a moment to think。 I will improvise for You。〃
He closed his eyes and rested his head on the frame of the harp。
His fingers gently touched the strings while he was thinking。 In
a few minutes he lifted his head； looked at me； and struck the
first notesthe prelude to the song。 It was wild； barbaric；
monotonous music； utterly unlike any modern composition。
Sometimes it suggested a slow and undulating Oriental dance。
Sometimes it modulated into tones which reminded me of the
severer harmonies of the old Gregorian chants。 The words； when
they followed the prelude； were as wild； as recklessly free from
all restraint of critical rules； as the music。 They were
assuredly inspired by the occasion； I was the theme of the
strange song。 And thusin one of the finest tenor voices I ever
heardmy poet sang of me：
〃Why does she come？ She reminds me of the lost； She reminds me
of the dead： In her form like the other； In her walk like the
other： Why does she com