The first thing he saw was the room with its shelves upon shelves of books, piled high to the ceiling. As it answered the triple purpose of doctor’s office, student’s study, and a misanthrope’s cell, it naturally presented an anomalous appearance, which was anything but attractive at first sight. Afterward, certain details stood out, and it became apparent that those curious dangling things which disfigured the upper portion of the room belonged entirely to the medical side of the occupant’s calling, while the mixture of articles on the walls, some beautiful, but many of them grotesque if not repellant, bespoke the man of taste whose nature has been warped by solitude. A large door painted green filled up a considerable space of the wall on the left, but judging from the two heavy bars padlocked across it, it no longer served as a means of communication with the other parts of the house. On the contrary it had been fitted from top to bottom with shelves, upon which were ranged a doctor’s usual collection of phials, boxes, and surgical appliances, with here and there a Chinese image or an Indian god. A rude settle showed where he slept at night, and on the table in the middle of the room, a most incongruous litter of books, trinkets, medicines, clothing, sewing materials, and chemical apparatus proclaimed the fact, well known in the village, that no woman ever set foot in the place, save such as came for medical advice or on some such errand as had drawn hither the pretty Polly. At the table and in full view of the peering intruder sat the genius of the place, Dr. Izard. His back was to the window and he was looking up at Polly, who stood near, twirling as usual her sunbonnet round her dainty forefinger. It was his profile, therefore, which the curious wayfarer saw, but this profile was so fine and yet so characteristic that it immediately imprinted itself upon the memory like a silhouette and the observer felt that he had known it always. Yet it was not till one had been acquainted with the doctor long that all the traits of his extraordinary countenance became apparent. Its intelligence, its sadness, its reserve and the beauty which gave to all these qualities a strange charm which was rather awe-inspiring than pleasurable, struck the mind at once, but it was not till after months of intercourse that one saw that the spell he invariably created about him was not due to these obvious qualities but to something more subtle and enigmatic, something which flashed out in his face at odd times or fell from his voice under the strain of some unusual emotion, which while it neither satisfied the eye nor the ear, created such a halo of individuality about the man that dread became terror or admiration became worship according to the mental bias of the person observant of him.