His uncle's words rang in his memory.

But as he recalled the tone, the raised finger, the mien, with which they had been spoken, the young man looked around him, and seemed half startled and frightened by the stillness, and awe-struck by the midnight hour.

He moved his head rapidly and arose, like a person trying to rouse himself from sleep or nightmare.

Passing the mirror, he involuntarily started at the haggard paleness of his face under the clustering black hair.

He was trying to shake something off.