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He who called himself Castalio had sunk as if fainting into a chair: his trembling was so violent that all his limbs fluttered; the muscles of his face quivered with such force that no feature in it could be distinguisht; and after the young men had gazed on it for some time amazedly, they thought with horrour they perceived that from this distortion of all the lineaments came forth the well-known countenance of the aged Apone.
"Who's there?" cried Castalio; and, when the friends opened the door, in came Beresynth, who immediately stationed himself in the middle of the room, and with sundry antick bows and writhings of his features, offered his services to the wise man. "Who are you?" exclaimed Castalio, who had changed colour, and pale and trembling had shrunk back a few steps.
"If I learn the year, the day, and the hour of your birth," answered Castalio, "compare the horoscope I shall then draw with the lines of your face and the marks on your hands, and afterward give free range to my mind in contemplating the results, I hardly doubt my being able to tell you something about your destinies."
Antonio meanwhile had already been to prepare old Ambrosio and his wife, telling them he was now sure of finding out the hideous old woman again, and no doubt her daughter Crescentia also. The mother readily believed him; but the father persisted in his doubts. Even before the sun had set, the youth was again with his friend at the door of the wise Castalio.
"But since the day," he continued, "when I made acquaintance with the incomparable Castalio, this knowledge appears to me in a far higher and purer light." "And is it possible," exclaimed Antonio, "that after all those fearful events at Padua, you can again expose your soul to such perils?
It only seemed as if the cheerful young man had some common business in hand, which was far from requiring the whole of his attention. Thus amid laughing and lively talk an hour may have past away, when Castalio stood up and beckoned to Antonio to go with him to the window. "I know not, he began, how far you trust your friend there, or what you may wish to keep secret from him."
Do you not know me?" cried he turning to Castalio: "perhaps you have nothing for me to do." "How should I?" said Castalio with a faltering voice: "I never saw you before. Leave me; I must decline your services. In this little house of mine I have no room for any stranger." Beresynth paced with his biggest strides up and down. "So, you don't know me?
"Thou knowest not, my Theo, what a pearl and paragon of a man my Castalio is; my Chamont, my oh, dear me, child, what a pity it is that in your husband's tragedy he should have to take the horrid name of Captain Smith!" Upon this tragedy not only my literary hopes, but much of my financial prospects were founded.
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