I signed him to wait, and added a last sentence: "Understand this; I will answer no more questions--I have done with the subject." He read what I had written with the closest attention.

But his inveterate suspicion of me was not set at rest, even yet.
"Are you likely to come this way again ?" he asked.
I pointed to the final lines of my writing, and got up to go.
This assertion of my will against his roused him.

He stopped me at the door--not by a motion of his hand but by the mastery of his look.

The dim candlelight afforded me no help in determining the color of his eyes.
Dark, large, and finely set in his head, there was a sinister passion in them, at that moment, which held me in spite of myself.

Still as monotonous as ever, his voice in some degree expressed the frenzy that was in him, by suddenly rising in its pitch when he spoke to me next.
"Mr.Roylake, I love her.