Still the bars held it fast: when a loud crack, like thunder, was heard, and the door flew open. A tall spare man entered, with a very dark beard. He was dressed in a very old fashioned style; had a sorrowful expression of countenance, with large bushy brows, that gave him a look of deep thought. A scarlet mantle hung over his left shoulder, and his hat was high and peaked. He stepped silently through the room, with the same slow, heavy step, as before; looked at the consecrated candles, and snuffed them. He next threw aside his mantle, opened a small bag he held under his arm, took out a shaving apparatus, and began sharpening a razor on a broad leather strap, which hung at his belt. Frank now actually perspired with fear; he commended his case to the Holy Virgin, and looked with much anxiety for the close of the last proceeding with the razor; not certain whether it was meant for his beard or his throat. He was glad, however, to observe the spectre pour water out of a silver ewer, into a small basin of the same metal; then with his long hand he mixed the soap into fine foaming suds, placing a chair, and with a singular look and air, anxiously beckoned the affrighted Frank to take his seat. He felt that it was as impossible to resist this appeal, as it is for a vizier to resist a mute who brings orders from the Grand Turk, to return with the said vizier’s head. It is best, in the
