Ellice Quentin, and other storiesHawthorne, Julian
General
Ellice Quentin, and other stories
Hawthorne, Julian
American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
It was a circular room, like my own chamber below, but much loftier,
and without any sign of windows. A mild half-light descended from a
ring of shaded lamps affixed round the walls at a height of nine feet
from the floor, leaving the vaulted ceiling in shadow. The walls below
the lamps were draped with a kind of tapestry of rich dark hues; and at
one side stood a tall carved cabinet of black wood, furnished with a
pair of folding-doors and a broad desk, upon which were books and some
small instruments of polished brass. On the side opposite the cabinet
was a deep niche in the stone wall, supporting a slender antique vase
of embossed silver.
These particulars I noticed but passingly: that which immediately and
predominantly commanded my attention was the mighty instrument which,
with its appurtenances, rose pyramid-like in the centre of the room;
lifting heavenward its awful eye, that had looked familiarly upon the
mysterious faces of the planets, and revealed their secrets to man. The
upper portion of the shaft was enveloped in the obscurity which brooded
in the vault; but this dusky veil only deepened its impressiveness.
Below, the softened lamplight shone upon a complex arrangement of
machinery; wheels and grooves and chains, and subtle levers, all
artfully contrived to turn and slide without jar or irregularity,
obedient to the light touch of Diana's taper finger. She was the
priestess of this temple; here were her virgin stronghold and her home.
During the few moments that I had been plunged in contemplation she had
thrown on, over the black silk demi-toilette which she had worn during
the evening, a flowing mantle of delicate texture, dark as night, with
wide drooping sleeves, and falling in soft folds from her shoulders
to the floor. Upon her auburn hair she had placed a black velvet cap,
such as the astrologers of old used to wear; and as she now stood
before me, smiling at me out of her unfathomable nixie eyes, she looked
more like an enchantress, wise with the arts of witchcraft than like
a mortal maiden with warm blood and human affections. Was she a witch
indeed?
'This clockwork can be adjusted so as to keep any one of the stars or
planets within the field of the telescope,' said she, quietly, laying
her hand upon one of the wheels. 'I have only to move this, and one
of these, and then there is nothing more to be done but to sit in the
chair, there, and look through the lens.'
'Shall we see the moon to-night?' I asked.
'Yes, if you like.'
She pressed a lever somewhere in the machinery, and immediately the
vast tube, that seemed fixed so immovably, swung noiselessly and
steadily towards the right, and, pausing there without shock or tremor,
waited motionlessly as before.
'It looks at the moon now,' said Diana in a low voice.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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