He deemed me dead, and the obstacle that had risen between us needed no explanation now.  The waves had swallowed all necessities like this.  But, had he known me the inmate of a mad-house, no bolts or bars would have withheld him from my presence.  His own eyes could alone have convinced him of such ruin as was alleged against me by these friends.

From this survey of my utter helplessness I turned suddenly to confront the deep, dark, salient eyes of the disciple of Hahnemann, real or pretended, fixed upon me with a glance that even his blue spectacles could not deprive of its subtle intensity.

Where had I seen before orbs of the same snake-like peculiarity of expression, or caught the outline of the profile which suddenly riveted my gaze as the light partially revealed it, then subsided into shadow again?  I pondered this question for a moment while Dr. Englehart, silent, expectant perhaps, stood with his hand tightly grasping the back of a chair, on the seat of which he reposed one knee, in a position such as defiant school-boys often assume before a pedagogue.

As I have said, his head and body were again in shadow, as was, indeed, most of the chamber, for the rays which struggled through the thick ground glass of my astral lamp were as mild as moonbeams, and as unsatisfactory.  But the light fell strong and red beneath the shade, and the full glare of the astral lamp seemed centred on that pudgy hand, in its inevitable glove, that had fixed so firm a gripe on the back of the mahogany chair as to strain open one of the fingers of the tight, tawny kid-glove worn by Dr. Englehart.  This had parted slightly just above the knuckle of the front-finger, and revealed the cotton stuffing within.  Nay, more, the ruby ring with its peculiar device was thus exposed, which graced the slender finger of the charlatan!  I do not apply this term as concerned the profession he affected at all, but merely (as shall be seen later) as one appropriate to himself individually.

There must be beings of all kinds to constitute a world, philosophers tell us, and he, no doubt, so long in ignorance of it, had stumbled suddenly on his proper vocation at last.  The role he was playing (so far successfully) had doubtless been the occasion of an exquisite delight to him, unknown to simpler mortals, who masquerade not without dread misgivings of detection.  I for one, when affecting any costume not essentially belonging to me, or covering my face even with a paper-mask for holiday diversion, have had a feeling of unusual transparency and obviousness, so to speak, which precluded on my part every thing like a successful maintenance of the part I was attempting to play.  It was as if some mocking voice was saying:  “This is Miriam Monfort, the true Miriam; the person you have known before as such was only making believe—­but the Simon-pure is before you, a volume of folly that all who run may read!  Behold her—­she was never half so evident before!”