go with me to the parlor."

This sounded formidable, but I did not hesitate. I felt able to
confront this man.

"I am at your service," I declared, with a comfortable sensation
that my tone conveyed something of the uncompromising spirit I felt.

The room to which he conducted me was on the first floor, and was
darkness itself when we entered. It was musty, too, and chill, as
with the memory of a past funeral and the premonition of a new one.

Even the light which he soon made did not seem to be at home in the
spot, but wavered and flickered with faint gasps, as if it longed to
efface itself and leave the grand and solitary apartment to its
wonted atmosphere of cold reserve. By its feeble flame I noted but
two details: one was the portrait of Mrs. Pollard in her youth, and
the other was my own reflection in some distant mirror. The first
filled me with strange thoughts, the face was so wickedly powerful,
if I may so speak; handsome, but with that will beneath its beauty
which, when allied to selfishness, has produced the Lucretia Borgias
and Catherine de Medicis of the world.

The reflection of which I speak, dimly seen as it was, had, on the
contrary, a calming effect upon my mind. Weary as I undoubtedly was,
and pale if not haggard with the emotions I had experienced, there
was still something natural and alive in my image that recalled
happier scenes to my eyes, and gave me the necessary strength to
confront the possibilities of the present interview..