ic, why should the sight of him so oddly affect
Balder Helwyse, whose avowed object in pulling off the dial-plate had
been to justify a suspicion that Uncle Hiero was behind it? Why,
moreover, did the young man not address his relative, congratulating
himself upon their meeting, and rallying the old gentleman on his
attempt to escape his nephew's affectionate solicitude? There had,
indeed, been a misunderstanding at their last encounter, and Balder
had so far forgotten himself as to throw Hiero into the sea; but it
was the part of good-breeding, as well as of Christianity, to forget
such errors, and heal the bruise with an extra application of balsamic
verbiage.

Why so speechless, Balder? Do you wait for your host to speak first?
Nay, never stand on ceremony. He is an eccentric recluse, unused to
the ways of society, while a man of the world like you has at his
tongue's tip a score of phrases just suited to the occasion. Speak up,
therefore, in your most genial tone, and tell the Doctor how glad you
are to find him in such wonderful preservation! Put him at his ease by
feigning that his position appears to you the most natural in the
world,--just what befits a gentleman of his years and honors! Flatter
him, if only from self-interest, for he has a deep pocket, and may be
induced to let you put a hand in it.

Not a word in response to all this eloquence, Balder? Positively your
behavior appears rather curmudgeonly than heroic! You stand gazing at
your relative with almost as much fixedness as he returns your stare
withal. There is something odd about this.

What is that pungent odor? Is the Doctor a dandy, that he should use
perfumes? And where did he get so peculiar a scent as this? It is
commonly in vogue only at that particular toilet which no man ever
performed for himself, but which never needs to be done twice,--a kind
of toilet, by the way, especially prevalent amongst the ancient
Egyptians. Since, then, Doctor Glyphic is so ardent an Egyptologist,
perhaps we have hit upon the secret of his remarkable odoriferousness.
But to shut one's self up in a box that looks so uncommonly like a
coffin,--is not that carrying the antiquarian whim a trifle too far?

This face of his,--one fancies there is a curiously dry look about it!
The unnaturally yellow skin resembles a piece of good-for-nothing
wrinkled parchment. The lips partake of the prevailing sallow tint,
and the mouth hangs a little awry. From the cloth in whi