’Listen with all your ears.  Give me your whole attention.  Hearken to my bidding, so that you may do as I bid you.  Not that I fear your obedience,—­oh no!’

He paused,—­as if to enable me to fully realise the picture of my helplessness conjured up by his jibes.

’You came through my window, like a thief.  You will go through my window, like a fool.  You will go to the house of the great Paul Lessingham.  You say you do not know it?  Well, I will show it you.  I will be your guide.  Unseen, in the darkness and the night, I will stalk beside you, and will lead you to where I would have you go.—­You will go just as you are, with bare feet, and head uncovered, and with but a single garment to hide your nakedness.  You will be cold, your feet will be cut and bleeding,—­but what better does a thief deserve?  If any see you, at the least they will take you for a madman; there will be trouble.  But have no fear; bear a bold heart.  None shall see you while I stalk at your side.  I will cover you with the cloak of invisibility,—­so that you may come in safety to the house of the great Paul Lessingham.’

He paused again.  What he said, wild and wanton though it was, was beginning to fill me with a sense of the most extreme discomfort.  His sentences, in some strange, indescribable way, seemed, as they came from his lips, to warp my limbs; to enwrap themselves about me; to confine me, tighter and tighter, within, as it were, swaddling clothes; to make me more and more helpless.  I was already conscious that whatever mad freak he chose to set me on, I should have no option but to carry it through.

’When you come to the house, you will stand, and look, and seek for a window convenient for entry.  It may be that you will find one open, as you did mine; if not, you will open one.  How,—­that is your affair, not mine.  You will practise the arts of a thief to steal into his house.’

The monstrosity of his suggestion fought against the spell which he again was casting upon me, and forced me into speech,—­endowed me with the power to show that there still was in me something of a man; though every second the strands of my manhood, as it seemed, were slipping faster through the fingers which were strained to clutch them.

‘I will not.’

He was silent.  He looked at me.  The pupils of his eyes dilated,—­ until they seemed all pupil.

‘You will.—­Do you hear?—­I say you will.’

’I am not a thief, I am an honest man,—­why should I do this thing?’

‘Because I bid you.’

‘Have mercy!’

’On whom—­on you, or on Paul Lessingham?—­Who, at any time, has shown mercy unto me, that I should show mercy unto any?’

He stopped, and then again went on,—­reiterating his former incredible suggestion with an emphasis which seemed to eat its way into my brain.

’You will practise the arts of a thief to steal into his house; and, being in, will listen.  If all be still, you will make your way to the room he calls his study.’