was not disappointed. To him I was merely a messenger, or common
policeman; and he consequently paid me no attention, while I
bestowed upon him the most concentrated scrutiny of my whole life.
Till now I had seen him only in half lights, or under circumstances
precluding my getting a very accurate idea of him as a man and a
gentleman. Now he sat with the broad daylight on his face, and I
had every opportunity for noting both his features and expression.
He was of a distinguished type; but the cloud enshrouding him was
as heavy as any I had ever seen darkening about a man of his
position and character. His manner, fettered though it was by
gloomy thoughts, was not just the manner I had expected to encounter.

He had a large, clear eye, but the veil which hid the brightness of
his regard was misty with suspicion, not with tears. He appeared
to shrink from observation, and shifted uneasily as long as I stood
in front of him, though he said nothing and did not lift his eyes
from the letter he was perusing till he heard me step back to the
door I had purposely left open and softly close it. Then he glanced
up, with a keen, if not an alarmed look, which seemed an exaggerated
one for the occasion, - that is, if he had no secret to keep.

"Do you suffer so from drafts?" he asked, rising in a way which in
itself was a dismissal.

I smiled an amused denial, then with the simple directness I thought
most likely to win me his confidence, entered straight upon my
business in these plain words:

"Pardon me, Mr. Jeffrey, I have something to say which is not exactly
fitted for the ears of servants." Then, as he pushed his chair