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behind the earthly vessel in the harbor。 The Jew had stepped on
shore。 His boat was on the beach。 His crewlittle men with
stony； white faces； dressed in funeral blacksat in silent rows
on the seats of the boat； with their oars in their lean； long
hands。 The Jew； also a black； stood with his eyes and hands
raised imploringly to the thunderous heaven。 The wild creatures
of land and seathe tiger； the rhinoceros； the crocodile； the
sea…serpent； the shark； and the devil…fishsurrounded the
accursed Wanderer in a mystic circle； daunted and fascinated at
the sight of him。 The lightning was gone。 The sky and sea had
darkened to a great black blank。 A faint and lurid light lighted
the scene； falling downward from a torch； brandished by an
avenging Spirit that hovered over the Jew on outspread vulture
wings。 Wild as the picture might be in its conception； there was
a suggestive power in it which I confess strongly impressed me。
The mysterious silence in the house； and my strange position at
the moment； no doubt had their effect on my mind。 While I was
still looking at the ghastly composition before me； the shrill
trilling sound of the whistle upstairs burst on the stillness。
For the moment my nerves were so completely upset that I started
with a cry of alarm。 I felt a momentary impulse to open the door
and run out。 The idea of trusting myself alone with the man who
had painted those frightful pictures actually terrified me； I was
obliged to sit down on one of the hall chairs。 Some minutes
passed before my mind recovered its balance； and I began to feel
like my own ordinary self again。 The whistle sounded impatiently
for the second time。 I rose and ascended the broad flight of
stairs which led to the first story。 To draw back at the point
which I had now reached would have utterly degraded me in my own
estimation。 Still； my heart did certainly beat faster than usual
as I approached the door of the circular anteroom； and I honestly
acknowledge that I saw my own imprudence； just then； in a
singularly vivid light。
There was a glass over the mantel…piece in the anteroom。 I
lingered for a moment （nervous as I was） to see how I looked in
the glass。
The hanging tapestry over the inner door had been left partially
drawn aside。 Softly as I moved； the dog's ears of Miserrimus
Dexter caught the sound of my dress on the floor。 The fine tenor
voice； which I had last heard singing； called to me softly。
〃Is that Mrs。 Valeria？ Please don't wait there。 Come in！〃
I entered the inner room。
The wheeled chair advanced to meet me； so slowly and so softly
that I hardly knew it again。 Miserrimus Dexter languidly held out
his hand。 His head inclined pensively to one side； his large blue
eyes looked at me piteously。 Not a vestige seemed to be left of
the raging； shouting creature of my first visit； who was Napoleon
at one moment； and Shakespeare at another。 Mr。 Dexter of the
morning was a mild； thoughtful； melancholy man； who only recalled
Mr。 Dexter of the night by the inveterate oddity of his dress。
His jacket； on this occasion； was of pink quilted silk。 The
coverlet which hid his deformity matched the jacket in pale
sea…green satin； and； to complete these strange vagaries of
costume； his wrists were actually adorned with massive bracelets
of gold； formed on the severely simple models which have
descended to us from ancient times。
〃How good of you to cheer and charm me by coming here！〃 he said；
in his most mournful and most mu sical tones。 〃I have dressed；
expressly to receive you； in the prettiest clothes I have。 Don't
be surprised。 Except in this ignoble and material nineteenth
century； men have always worn precious stuffs and beautiful
colors as well as women。 A hundred years ago a gentleman in pink
silk was a gentleman properly dressed。 Fifteen hundred years ago
the patricians of the classic times wore bracelets exactly like
mine。 I despise the brutish contempt for beauty and the mean
dread of expense which degrade a gentleman's costume to black
cloth； and limit a gentleman's ornaments to a finger…ring； in the
age I live in。 I like to be bright and I beautiful； especially
when brightness and beauty come to see me。 You don't know how
precious your society is to me。 This is one of my melancholy
days。 Tears rise unbidden to my eyes。 I sigh and sorrow over
myself； I languish for pity。 Just think of what I am！ A poor
solitary creature； cursed with a frightful deformity。 How
pitiable！ how dreadful！ My affectionate heartwasted。 My
extraordinary talentsuseless or misapplied。 Sad！ sad！ sad！
Please pity me。〃
His eyes were positively filled with tearstears of compassion
for himself！ He looked at me and spoke to me with the wailing；
querulous entreaty of a sick child wanting to be nursed。 I was
utterly at a loss what to do。 It was perfectly ridiculousbut I
was never more embarrassed in my life。
〃Please pity me！〃 he repeated。 〃Don't be cruel。 I only ask a
little thing。 Pretty Mrs。 Valeria； say you pity me！〃
I said I pitied himand I felt that I blushed as I did it。
〃Thank you；〃 said Miserrimus Dexter； humbly。 〃It does me good。 Go
a little further。 Pat my hand。〃
I tried to restrain myself； but the sense of the absurdity of
this last petition （quite gravely addressed to me； remember！） was
too strong to be controlled。 I burst out laughing。
Miserrimus Dexter looked at me with a blank astonishment which
only increased my merriment。 Had I offended him？ Apparently not。
Recovering from his astonishment； he laid his head luxuriously on
the back of his chair； with the expression of a man who was
listening critically to a performance of some sort。 When I had
quite exhausted myself； he raised his head and clapped his
shapely white hands； and honored me with an 〃encore。〃
〃Do it again；〃 he said； still in the same childish way。 〃Merry
Mrs。 Valeria； _you_ have a musical laugh_I_ have a musical ear。
Do it again。〃
I was serious enough by this time。 〃I am ashamed of myself； Mr。
Dexter；〃 I said。 〃Pray forgive me。〃
He made no answer to this； I doubt if he heard me。 His variable
temper appeared to be in course of undergoing some new change。 He
sat looking at my dress （as I supposed） with a steady and anxious
attention； gravely forming his own conclusions； steadfastly
pursuing his own train of thought。
〃Mrs。 Valeria；〃 he burst out suddenly； 〃you are not comfortable
in that chair。〃
〃Pardon me；〃 I replied； 〃I am quite comfortable。〃
〃Pardon _me；_〃 he rejoined。 〃There is a chair of Indian
basket…work at that end of the room which is much better suited
to you。 Will you accept my apologies if I am rude enough to allow
you to fetch it for yourself？ I have a reason。〃
He had a reason！ What new piece of eccentricity was he about to
exhibit？ I rose and fetched the chair。 It was light enough to be
quite easily carried。 As I returned to him； I noticed that his
eyes were strangely employed in what seemed to be the closest
scrutiny of my dress。 And； stranger still； the result of this
appeared to be partly to interest and partly to distress him。
I placed the chair near him； and was about to take my seat in it；
when he sent me back again； on another errand；