Gerald nodded.

"I will go to him at once," he said.




CHAPTER V

Accustomed though he was to the sight which he was about to face,
Gerald shivered slightly as he opened the door of Mr. Fentolin's
room. A strange sort of fear seemed to have crept into his bearing
and expression, a fear of which there had been no traces whatever
during those terrible hours through which he had passed--not even
during that last reckless journey across the marshes. He walked
with hesitating footsteps across the spacious and lofty room. He
had the air of some frightened creature approaching his master.
Yet all that was visible of the despot who ruled his whole
household in deadly fear was the kindly and beautiful face of an
elderly man, whose stunted limbs and body were mercifully concealed.
He sat in a little carriage, with a rug drawn closely across his
chest and up to his armpits. His beautifully shaped hands were
exposed, and his face; nothing else. His hair was a silvery white;
his complexion parchment-like, pallid, entirely colourless. His
eyes were a soft shade of blue. His features were so finely cut
and chiselled that they resembled some exquisite piece of statuary.
He smiled as his nephew came slowly towards him. One might almost
have fancied that the young man's abject state was a source of
pleasure to him.