ment of a person to whom a tale has been half-told, and who is impatient to hear the sequel."
He sat down. I recalled his singular conduct of yesterday, and really I began to fear his wits were touched. If he were insane, however, his was a very cool and collected insanity: I had never seen that handsome-featured face of his, look more like chiselled marble than it did just now; as he put aside his snow-wet hair from his forehead and let the fire-light shine free on his pale brow and cheek as pale: where it grieved me to discover the hollow trace of care or sorrow now so plainly graved. I waited, expecting he would say something I could at least comprehend; but his hand was now at his chin, his finger on his lip: he was thinking. It struck me that his hand looked wasted like his face. A perhaps uncalled-for gush of pity came over my heart: I was moved to say:—
"I wish Diana or Mary would come and live with you: it is too bad that you should be quite alone; and you are recklessly rash about your own health."
"Not at all," said he: "I care for mysel when necessary: I am well now. What do you see amiss in me?"
