myself in a chair and was waiting for some sign from the
little old man who had brought me there. But where was he?
Turning around I looked about me on all sides. He had left
the room during my momentary preoccupation. I had scarcely
seated myself again when a door opened and a venerable man,
with snow-white hair and a smooth-shaven face that was pale
and wrinkled, walked slowly toward me. I rose to my feet and
advanced a step or two. He came forward without speaking and
looked steadily into my eyes. Slowly and sadly he turned his
gaze upon the floor, apparently in deep thought. A sigh
broke from his lips as if some memory, stirring in the caves
of thought, had driven it forth.

The man who stood before me had deep-set gray eyes, almost
concealed by long shaggy brows not yet entirely white. His
lips were thin, and drawn closely together above a square,
protruding chin. The nose was aquiline and prominent, with
large, but finely cut nostrils. Altogether his was the most
picturesque face I had ever seen. Suddenly he made an effort
to clear his throat.

"Kendric's child," said he, in a strange, low voice. He
spoke slowly and with great difficulty, as if his organs of
speech were partially paralyzed. I would not have been able
to distinguish his words but for the silence of that room
and the unnatural keenness of my hearing. He still stood
motionless, his eyes upon the floor. I knew that he was
thinking of my father.

"Dead?" he asked, looking at me inquisitively.