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Updated: May 18, 2025
We stood for a long time looking upon this memorable meeting of Cadmus and Caliban. When at length he caught sight of us, Rayel came where we stood, and said he was ready to go home. Perceiving that we were about to go, the crowd hurried from the building into the narrow alley leading out upon the street.
It occurred to me after she had gone that possibly she had some cause to suspect the man who had been the subject of our conversation. Rayel always came late in the day, when there was no chance of meeting other callers, and stayed with me until bedtime.
He was a thin, wiry Frenchman, with small, black eyes, a forehead sloping to a bald crown, an aquiline nose and a pointed chin, adorned with an imperial. The face was almost mephistophelian in effect. He had painted her portrait! Was the man an impostor? I asked myself. "The Count is an artist himself, you know," said Miss Paddington. "Yes an artist?" asked Rayel in a half-incredulous tone.
"It is true that I am going home soon," said she, "but I must decline to discuss my object in doing so." "Pray pardon me; I'm a journalist, you know," said Mr. Murmurtot, "and I earn my living by impertinence. Have I not seen you before, sir?" he continued, facing Rayel.
Was it Rayel standing near the bed, his body swaying backward and forward, or was I yet asleep? Everything looked dim and weird. I seemed to be in some silent ghostland between sleeping and waking. I rubbed my eyes and peered about the half-darkened room. It was Rayel, and, as I gazed at him, his eyes seemed to shine like balls of fire. I called to him, but he made no answer.
There were people sitting in the room and talking in low tones. "Has he asked for Rayel yet?" said one of them. "Not yet," was the answer. "Better not let him know about it yet. There's time enough. He'll be around soon." I called to them and they came quickly to my bedside. There were Hester and Mr. Earl and his good wife, all looking down upon me with smiling faces.
Dressing as quickly as possible, I proceeded at once to the library, where my uncle sat waiting for me. He conducted me to the breakfast room a well-lighted and cheerful apartment where he served me with his own hands. "You shall stay, sir you shall stay," said he, laying his hand on my shoulder as he sat down beside me, with a smiling face. "Rayel loves you. He hopes you will stay.
The candles were lit before dinner was over, and when we rose from the table it was to gather about the warm fire and exchange memories, while Rayel listened with deep interest. Phil had been promoted from a pair of legs to a pair of hands, and was now third bookkeeper for the firm. Our carriage came for us at nine o'clock.
She had guessed rightly, and Hester bustled about, helping her mother get the dishes on the table, with a critical eye to all the arrangements. Rayel was much amused by the children, the youngest of whom had climbed upon his knee and was taking liberties with his cravat. He was wholly unaccustomed to the pranks of children, and we frequently rallied to his defence.
She always comes to me there when the light goes out. She knows your heart better than I. We shall leave Rayel to your care. It is the last time I shall come here. My work is nearly finished." We emptied our glasses in silence, but my mind was busy thinking on those impressive words, "She always comes to me there when the light goes out."
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