His discomposure was greatly augmented when he reached that apartment. Having set the light down on his toilet-table, he proceeded to pace the floor, from one end of the chamber to the other, with a hurried step, and with his hands clasped tightly over his brow. His thoughts seemed to rise so rapidly, and in such disorderly array, that he could not bend himself to consider them, but became lost in perplexity and distraction. After a time--but not before a good hour had elapsed--he came to a pause, and, if one might form a conclusion from his altered manner, made an effort to collect himself. As he did so, he suddenly looked up; and a contiguous toilet-glass, which was standing right before him, and which the light on the table served to illuminate, presented to his eye the melancholy reflection of his aspect. A spasm passed over his face as he viewed this spectacle; and certainly, compared with his usual appearance, or even that which he wore but recently, it was touching in the extreme. There was not a line of colour in any one feature, and the unnatural lustre of his large full eyes, staring with horror, imparted to the pallor and despairing look of his complexion a terrible and appalling distinctness. He cast but one glance at the glass, when he turned away; and again, though with a slower step, and a look which, if no less wild, was not so bewildered as his recent one, proceeded to pace the chamber. After he had thus perambulated the apartment for some time, he stepped once more, at a slow and deliberate pace, towards the toilet-table, and drew from a sheath at his side a small stiletto. On drawing it fully forth, he held its point to one of his fingers, as though he would ascertain, by this searching and personal experiment, whether it were any way defective. His inspection appeared to satisfy him of its perfectness; and, with a trembling hand, he replaced it in its sheath. A quiver suffused his lips as he was turning away from the table, and he paused once more. But his hesitation, if such it were, was but momentary, and, almost as he came to a stand, he caught up the light from the table, and turned resolutely towards the chamber-door. Still bearing the light, he cautiously opened the door, and looked out. No one was in sight; and from the stillness which prevailed, and which was unbroken by the least sound, he rightly conjectured that all the inmates of the mansion were now locked in sleep. On arriving at this conclusion, he stepped out into the passage, and proceeded, with a quick but noiseless tread, down a contiguous flight of stairs, where a broad landing opened to another flight. He halted on the landing, and, holding up the light, turned his eye on a neighbouring door, which led from the landing to an inner chamber. The chamber was Evaline’s.