floor, I followed the direction of his glance. In the absolute
stillness of the house we stared at the high-heeled slipper the
girl had lost in her flight. We stared. It lay overturned.

After what seemed a very long time to me, Jacobus hitched his chair
forward, stooped with extended arm and picked it up. It looked a
slender thing in his big, thick hands. It was not really a
slipper, but a low shoe of blue, glazed kid, rubbed and shabby. It
had straps to go over the instep, but the girl only thrust her feet
in, after her slovenly manner. Jacobus raised his eyes from the
shoe to look at me.

"Sit down, Captain," he said at last, in his subdued tone.

As if the sight of that shoe had renewed the spell, I gave up
suddenly the idea of leaving the house there and then. It had
become impossible. I sat down, keeping my eyes on the fascinating
object. Jacobus turned his daughter's shoe over and over in his
cushioned paws as if studying the way the thing was made. He
contemplated the thin sole for a time; then glancing inside with an
absorbed air:

"I am glad I found you here, Captain."

I answered this by some sort of grunt, watching him covertly. Then
I added: "You won't have much more of me now."

He was still deep in the interior of that shoe on which my eyes too
were resting.