were his eyes, that, ere long, it seemed to me that he was nothing
but eyes.

His eyes ran, literally, across the whole of the upper portion of
his face,--remember, the face was unwontedly small, and the
columna of the nose was razor-edged. They were long, and they
looked out of narrow windows, and they seemed to be lighted by
some internal radiance, for they shone out like lamps in a
lighthouse tower. Escape them I could not, while, as I endeavoured
to meet them, it was as if I shrivelled into nothingness. Never
before had I realised what was meant by the power of the eye. They
held me enchained, helpless, spell-bound. I felt that they could
do with me as they would; and they did. Their gaze was
unfaltering, having the bird-like trick of never blinking; this
man could have glared at me for hours and never moved an eyelid.

It was he who broke the silence. I was speechless.

'Shut the window.' I did as he bade me. 'Pull down the blind.' I
obeyed. 'Turn round again.' I was still obedient. 'What is your
name?'

Then I spoke,--to answer him. There was this odd thing about the
words I uttered, that they came from me, not in response to my
will power, but in response to his. It was not I who willed that I
should speak; it was he. What he willed that I should say, I said.
Just that, and nothing more. For the time I was no longer a man;
my manhood was merged in his. I was, in the extremest sense, an
example of passive obedience.