I thought drearily if this would be my end, and laughed aloud, for the earth knew me not, neither did heaven, and to my own land, branded with the breath of hell, I could never come. I recognised more horribly what would be the end. For death to me was death in entirety, the pitiable weakness of which Plucritus had spoken, a total dismemberment and absorption by some—yes, why not?—by some arch-vampire, even perhaps Vestasian, or one of the others. The more I thought of him the more clearly I discerned his nature. He had told me to think. Indeed, I might think safely whilst others laughed. Through all that night I lay awake, hating the coming day, yet longing for the night to flee away. Towards morning, as the darkest hour approached, I happened to look across toward the wall. There a feeble light was flickering. As I looked it died away, and soon afterwards the dawn broke red and golden. On that I fell asleep, wearily forgetful of all things till wakened by the slave who waited on me. I remember he pressed me once more with many sighs, and even tears, to wear apparel he had brought for me, but I refused. On descending to the lower hall I found Plucritus sitting reading. He was dressed ready for going out, and by his side Vestné sat perusing a letter. She looked up as I came to them, and the news was evidently very pleasing to her, for she was smiling. But when she saw me a slight frown puckered up her brow. “Good-morning, Genius,” she greeted me at last. “We feared you were not well, you are so late.” Plucritus threw the paper away and jumped up, turning to me. “Good—” but he never finished the salutation; instead, he ended with a violent “Idiot!” that lost nothing by the change in his tone. “Well,” said I, “as long as you send me a servant who cannot speak one word, what can you expect of me?” “Common sense,” he answered. “Let us have breakfast.” The meal was not a pleasant one. Afterwards Vestné left us alone; this hour of the morning seemed one of her busiest. Plucritus led the way to the library, and when we were there he closed the door. “Genius,” he said at last, “it is very easy to see what you mean by appearing like this.” “I mean nothing,” I replied, “except that I find my own apparel the more suitable. For my own part I think it is a very childish thing to quarrel over.” For a short time there was silence, till at last he asked,— “How did you like Vestasian?” “I found him a very interesting companion.” “More so than me?” “In many ways, yes.” “Should you care to change hosts?” “In that respect I find you pretty equal.” “I am going to the city this morning, would you care to come with me?” For one minute I looked at him, then I answered,— “I care very little about anything. If I must go, I must. If not I would rather stay.” He smiled.