y as himself. He was wrapped up in
the dusky crimson cloak already mentioned, which served him for
a morning-gown, as well as a mantle against the cold, and which
corresponded with a large montero-cap, that enveloped his head. The
singularity of his features, and of the eyes, armed with spectacles,
which were now cast on the subject of his studies, now directed towards
his little cauldron, would have tempted Rembrandt to exhibit him on
canvas, either in the character of an alchymist, or of a necromancer,
engaged in some strange experiment, under the direction of one of the
huge manuals which treat of the theory of these mystic arts.

The attention of the dwarf was bent, however, upon a more domestic
object. He was only preparing soup, of no unsavoury quality, for
breakfast, which he invited Peveril to partake with him. "I am an old
soldier," he said, "and, I must add, an old prisoner; and understand how
to shift for myself better than you can do, young man.--Confusion to
the scoundrel Clink, he has put the spice-box out of my reach!--Will you
hand it me from the mantelpiece?--I will teach you, as the French have
it, _faire la cuisine;_ and then, if you please, we will divide, like
brethren, the labours of our prison house."

Julian readily assented to the little man's friendly proposal, without
interposing any doubt as to his continuing an inmate of the same cell.
Truth is, that although, upon the whole, he was inclined to regard the
whispering voice of the preceding evening as the impression of his own
excited fancy, he felt, nevertheless, curiosity to see how a second
night was to pass over in the same cell; and the tone of the invisible
intruder, which at midnight had been heard by him with terror, now
excited, on recollection, a gentle and not unpleasing species of
agitation--the combined effect of awe, and of awakened curiosity.

Days of captivity have little to mark them as they glide away.
That which followed the night which we have described afforded no
circumstance of note. The dwarf imparted to his youthful companion a
volume similar to that which formed his own studies, and which proved to
be a tome of one of Scuderi's now forgotten romances, of which Geoffrey
Hudson was a great admirer, and which were then very fashionable both at
the French and English Courts; although they contrive to unite in
their immense folios all the improbabilities and absurdities of the old
romances of chivalry, without that tone