"I tell you this," and his voice became bitter: "If you do not leave this house--nay, nay." He stopped as if to correct himself. "A quiet hour--ay, a quiet hour, that you shall have, young master. So quiet that you shall not even know when it hath come to an end, so quiet that the spirits of the dead which haunt this house shall scarcely know when you have entered their worshipful company." By this time I saw that he had recovered from the surprise he had experienced at my entrance. His deep-set eyes rested steadily upon me, and he spoke like one in deep thought. I therefore watched him closely, for although he was an old man, he shewed no sign of feebleness. His eyes were keen and alert, and he moved with the activity of youth. "But why wish you this quiet hour, young master?" "To know many things which you can tell me," I answered boldly enough, although I was anything but light hearted. "Ay, I will tell you of many things," he said quickly, "things that you will never repeat, my son, never, never, never." He repeated the word as I have written it down with great solemnity, and for the last time between his set teeth and with terrible intensity. "Did you take advice from any man before you sought admission within these walls, young master?" he went on, "Did you commend your soul to your Maker? Did you bid good-bye to all you hold most dear?" "I did not do any of these things, Father Solomon," I answered as jauntily at I could. "Thus you show your foolishness." "That is as may be," I made answer. "And what do you think will be the end of this visit?" he asked, and I thought his interest was growing in me. "The end, Father Solomon?" I replied with a laugh. "The end will be that you will tell me what I wish to know, and then we shall say good-bye." "You are but a youth," he said solemnly. "You are yet only on the threshold of life, therefore it grieves even me that you should be cut off before your prime. And yet I see no chance of your escape. You have entered the region of the departed dead, you have lifted to your lips the goblet of which lost souls drink. Still, I would save you if I could. If you will take the oath that I shall prescribe, an oath to the Prince of Darkness who reigns here, then may I be persuaded to allow you to depart without injury." The man made me shiver as he spoke, but I had not come hither to be frightened before my work was begun. So I summoned up all my courage, and laughed in his face. "You laugh!" he cried angrily, "but in an hour from now you shall hear only the laughter of devils. The only words of comfort that you shall hear shall come from the lips of hell-hags, who shall drag you deeper and deeper down into the caverns of darkness." "Have done with this, Elijah Pycroft," I said quietly, for this threat made me feel that he was uttering only gipsy cant. He started as I mentioned his name, but still he kept up the part which I believed he was trying to play.