As a rule, in moments of overwhelming emotion, the eyes search too eagerly, too furiously, to see properly at all; but this does not seem to have been the case with Spinrobin.  The shadows ran about like water and the flickering of the candle-flame dazzled, but there, opposite to him, over by the darkness of the dead fireplace, he saw instantly the small black object that was the immediate cause of his terror.  Its actual shape was merged too much in the dark background to be clearly ascertainable, but near the top of it, where presumably the head was, the candle-flame shone reflected in two brilliant points of light that were directed straight upon his face, and he knew that he was looking into the eyes of a living creature that was not the very least on the defensive.  It was a living creature, aggressive and unafraid.

For perhaps a couple of minutes—­or was it seconds only?—­these two beings with the breath of life in them faced one another.  Then Spinrobin made a step cautiously in advance; lowering his candle he moved towards it.  This he did, partly to see better, partly to protect his bare legs.  The idea of protection, however, seems to have been merely instinct, for at once this notion that it might dash forward to attack him was merged in the unaccountable realization of a far grander emotion, as he perceived that this “living creature” facing him was, for all its diminutive size, both dignified and imposing.  Something in its atmosphere, something about its mysterious presentment there upon the floor in its dark corner, something, perhaps, that flashed from its brilliant and almost terrible eyes, managed to convey to him that it was clothed with an importance and a significance not attached normally to the animal world.  It had “an air.”  It bore itself with power, with value, almost with pride.

This incongruous impression bereft him of the sensations of ordinary fear, while it increased the sources of his confusion.  Yet it convinced.  He knew himself face to face with some form of life that was considerable in the true sense—­spiritually.  It exercised a fascination over him that was at the moment beyond either explanation or belief.

As he moved, moreover, the little dark object also moved—­away from him, as though resenting closer inspection.  With action—­again unlike the action of any animal he could think of, and essentially dignified—­both rapid and nicely calculated, it ran towards the curtains behind.  This appearance of something stately that went with it was indefinable and beyond everything impressive; for how in the world could such small proportions and diminutive movements convey grandeur?  And again Spinrobin found it impossible to decide precisely how it moved—­whether on four legs or on two.

Keeping the two points of light always turned upon him, it shot across the floor, leaped easily upon a chair, passed with a nimble spring from this to a table by the wall, still too much in obscurity to permit a proper view; and then, while the amazed secretary approached cautiously to follow its movements better, it crawled to the edge of the table, and in so doing passed for the first time full across the pale zone of flickering candlelight.