I looked eagerly toward the direction from which I had heard the sound, and saw a door opening. A little old man entered. Evidently he was a serving-man, just as one sees in most old houses. Even then I concluded that he was one who had spent most of his life in some well-ordered house. His clothes were spotlessly clean, the buckles on his shoes shone, his stockings were without blemish. His wig, too, was powdered carefully, and all his linen was faultless. All this made me wonder the more greatly as to where I was. He met my questioning look calmly, and looked at me critically. "Ah, you are better," he remarked, quietly. "Would you tell me where I am?" I asked. "You are safe from harm," he replied, vaguely. "And why am I here?" I asked. "To be kept from harm." "And how long have I been here?" "It is not for me to tell you. You have been very ill." "What has been the matter with me?" "You have had fever. Once I thought you would have died; but you have been nursed safely through it, and I have doctored you successfully." "Are you a doctor, then?" "I have some knowledge of the human system and of medicines. It is well, otherwise you would never have lived through your sickness." His face showed no emotion whatever, neither did it in the slightest degree indicate his thoughts. He spoke in perfectly measured tones, and each word was enunciated clearly. Many thoughts flashed through my mind, and many questions rose to my lips, but the old man's presence seemed to check them. Moreover, I felt very weak. "I shall be well and strong soon," I said. He came to me, felt my pulse, examined me in various ways, and said, quietly, "Yes, I think you will soon be well. You are a very strong man." "What will become of me then?" "You will stay here." "How long?" "I do not know." "But why was I brought here?" "To be kept from harm." "What harm?" "It is not for me to say." "By whose command was I brought here?" "I shall not tell you." "But you can tell me where I am. This seems a part of a big house, an old house. Whose is it, and where is it?" "I shall not tell you. You will receive nothing but kindness while you behave seemingly, if not, means will be used to check you." "I am a prisoner, then?" "Yes, you are a prisoner, if you are pleased to call it so." "But am I to have no liberty? Am I not to leave this room? I cannot live penned up here." "I shall speak no further to you. Food will be brought, and no harm will happen to you." With that he left the room as quietly as he came, and I heard his footsteps echoing again as I had heard them when he came to me. For a time my brain seemed to grow weak again, and in spite of my anxiety I dropped into a fitful sleep, from which I was aroused by the chinking of crockery near me.