an
indifferent observer, and, in some respect, had not hitherto been wholly
a stranger to Captain Delano's mind, yet, now that, in an incipient way,
he began to regard the stranger's conduct something in the light of an
intentional affront, of course the idea of lunacy was virtually vacated.
But if not a lunatic, what then? Under the circumstances, would a
gentleman, nay, any honest boor, act the part now acted by his host? The
man was an impostor. Some low-born adventurer, masquerading as an
oceanic grandee; yet so ignorant of the first requisites of mere
gentlemanhood as to be betrayed into the present remarkable indecorum.
That strange ceremoniousness, too, at other times evinced, seemed not
uncharacteristic of one playing a part above his real level. Benito
Cereno--Don Benito Cereno--a sounding name. One, too, at that period,
not unknown, in the surname, to super-cargoes and sea captains trading
along the Spanish Main, as belonging to one of the most enterprising and
extensive mercantile families in all those provinces; several members of
it having titles; a sort of Castilian Rothschild, with a noble brother,
or cousin, in every great trading town of South America. The alleged Don
Benito was in early manhood, about twenty-nine or thirty. To assume a
sort of roving cadetship in the maritime affairs of such a house, what
more likely scheme for a young knave of talent and spirit? But the
Spaniard was a pale invalid. Never mind. For even to the degree of
simulating mortal disease, the craft of some tricksters had been known
to attain. To think that, under the aspect of infantile weakness, the
most savage energies might be couched--those velvets of the Spaniard but
the silky paw to his fangs.

From no train of thought did these fancies come; not from within, but
from without; suddenly, too, and in one throng, like hoar frost; yet as
soon to vanish as the mild sun of Captain Delano's good-nature regained
its meridian.

Glancing over once more towards his host--whose side-face, revealed
above the skylight, was now turned towards him--he was struck by the
profile, whose clearness of cut was refined by the thinness, incident to
ill-health, as well as ennobled about the chin by the beard. Away with
suspicion. He was a true off-shoot of a true hidalgo Cereno.

Relieved by these and other better thoughts, the visitor, lightly
humming a tune, now began indifferently pacing the poop, so as not to
betray to Don Benito that he h