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continued horrors of the place。 The impression on his senses began
to defy the power of reason to resist them。 He could not shut out
these frightful cries nightly repeated； nor the frightful sound of
the whip employed to still them。 Hope began to fail him； as he
observed； that the submissive tranquillity （which he had imagined；
by obtaining increased indulgence； might contribute to his escape；
or perhaps convince the keeper of his sanity） was interpreted by
the callous ruffian； who was acquainted only with the varieties of
MADNESS； as a more refined species of that cunning which he was
well accustomed to watch and baffle。
On his first discovery of his situation； he had determined to take
the utmost care of his health and intellect that the place allowed；
as the sole basis of his hope of deliverance。 But as that hope
declined； he neglected the means of realizing it。 He had at first
risen early； walked incessantly about his cell； and availed himself
of every opportunity of being in the open air。 He took the
strictest care of his person in point of cleanliness； and with or
without appetite； regularly forced down his miserable meals； and
all these efforts were even pleasant； as long as hope prompted
them。 But now he began to relax them all。 He passed half the day
in his wretched bed； in which he frequently took his meals；
declined shaving or changing his linen； and； when the sun shone
into his cell； he turned from it on his straw with a sigh of
heartbroken despondency。 Formerly； when the air breathed through
his grating； he used to say； 〃Blessed air of heaven； I shall
breathe you once more in freedom！Reserve all your freshness for
that delicious evening when I shall inhale you； and be as free as
you myself。〃 Now when he felt it； he sighed and said nothing。 The
twitter of the sparrows； the pattering of rain； or the moan of the
wind； sounds that he used to sit up in his bed to catch with
delight； as reminding him of nature； were now unheeded。
He began at times to listen with sullen and horrible pleasure to
the cries of his miserable companions。 He became squalid；
listless； torpid； and disgusting in his appearance。
。 。 。 。 。
It was one of those dismal nights； that； as he tossed on his
loathsome bed；more loathsome from the impossibility to quit it
without feeling more 〃unrest；〃he perceived the miserable light
that burned in the hearth was obscured by the intervention of some
dark object。 He turned feebly toward the light； without curiosity；
without excitement； but with a wish to diversify the monotony of
his misery； by observing the slightest change made even
accidentally in the dusky atmosphere of his cell。 Between him and
the light stood the figure of Melmoth； just as he had seen him from
the first； the figure was the same； the expression of the face was
the same；cold； stony； and rigid； the eyes； with their infernal
and dazzling luster； were still the same。
Stanton's ruling passion rushed on his soul； he felt this
apparition like a summons to a high and fearful encounter。 He
heard his heart beat audibly； and could have exclaimed with Lee's
unfortunate heroine；〃It pants as cowards do before a battle； Oh
the great march has sounded！〃
Melmoth approached him with that frightful calmness that mocks the
terror it excites。 〃My prophecy has been fulfilled；you rise to
meet me rattling from your chains； and rustling from your strawam
I not a true prophet？〃 Stanton was silent。 〃Is not your situation
very miserable？〃Still Stanton was silent； for he was beginning to
believe this an illusion of madness。 He thought to himself； 〃How
could he have gained entrance here？〃〃Would you not wish to be
delivered from it？〃 Stanton tossed on his straw； and its rustling
seemed to answer the question。 〃I have the power to deliver you
from it。〃 Melmoth spoke very slowly and very softly； and the
melodious smoothness of his voice made a frightful contrast to the
stony rigor of his features； and the fiendlike brilliancy of his
eyes。 〃Who are you； and whence come you？〃 said Stanton； in a tone
that was meant to be interrogatory and imperative； but which； from
his habits of squalid debility； was at once feeble and querulous。
His intellect had become affected by the gloom of his miserable
habitation； as the wretched inmate of a similar mansion； when
produced before a medical examiner； was reported to be a complete
Albino。His skin was bleached； his eyes turned white； he could not
bear the light； and； when exposed to it； he turned away with a
mixture of weakness and restlessness； more like the writhings of a
sick infant than the struggles of a man。
Such was Stanton's situation。 He was enfeebled now； and the power
of the enemy seemed without a possibility of opposition from either
his intellectual or corporeal powers。
。 。 。 。 。
Of all their horrible dialogue； only these words were legible in
the manuscript； 〃You know me now。〃〃I always knew you。〃〃That is
false； you imagined you did； and that has been the cause of all the
wild 。 of the 。 。 。 。 。
。 of your finally being lodged in this mansion of misery； where
only I would seek； where only I can succor you。〃〃You； demon！〃
〃Demon！Harsh words！Was it a demon or a human being placed you
here？Listen to me； Stanton； nay； wrap not yourself in that
miserable blanket；that cannot shut out my words。 Believe me；
were you folded in thunder clouds； you must hear ME！ Stanton；
think of your misery。 These bare wallswhat do they present to
the intellect or to the senses？Whitewash； diversified with the
scrawls of charcoal or red chalk； that your happy predecessors have
left for you to trace over。 You have a taste for drawingI trust
it will improve。 And here's a grating； through which the sun
squints on you like a stepdame； and the breeze blows； as if it
meant to tantalize you with a sigh from that sweet mouth； whose
kiss you must never enjoy。 And where's your library；intellectual
man；traveled man？〃 he repeated in a tone of bitter derision；
〃where be your companions； your peaked men of countries； as your
favorite Shakespeare has it？ You must be content with the spider
and the rat； to crawl and scratch round your flock bed！ I have
known prisoners in the Bastille to feed them for companions；why
don't you begin your task？ I have known a spider to descend at the
tap of a finger； and a rat to come forth when the daily meal was
brought； to share it with his fellow prisoner！How delightful to
have vermin for your guests！ Aye； and when the feast fails them；
they make a meal of their entertainer！You shudder。Are you；
then； the first prisoner who has been devoured alive by the vermin
that infested his cell？Delightful banquet； not 'where you eat；
but where you are eaten'！ Your guests； however； will give you one
token of repentance while they feed； there will