Once a year
he sends me such a tiny vial as you see. I could hardly have
survived my searchings in this house, without that saving perfume.
Do you feel able to go on?"
"Yes."
"Come, then," and with that he stepped through the opening, and I
after him.
The room was not large--perhaps some nine feet high, some eight feet
wide. The walls were of such exquisitely grooved and polished red
mahogany that the candle-light was reflected in them as in mirrors;
one seemed to be surrounded by twinkling red stars. On each side of
the opening stood a tall and narrow cabinet, somewhat like a
high-boy, and in one corner was a chest with iron clasps and
handles. Over in another corner was a heavy, medium-sized square
table, on which stood a blackened candelabrum and a tarnished
silver-gilt cup. There were two chairs drawn up to this table. On
one of them, fallen forward, was something.
Mr. Jelnik placed the candles in the empty sconces. We two stood
looking down, he with pity, I with a mounting, sick horror, at the
thing before us--the poor, huddled thing that had lain there so
long. For it was not, as one might suppose at first glance, a frayed
and threadbare mantle flung across one corner of the table.
Pages:
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282