In answer to my note apprising him of my wish
to call, Dampier had written, 'Don't ring--open the
door and come up.' I did so. The staircase was dimly
lighted by a single gas-jet at the top of the second
flight. I managed to reach the landing without dis-
aster and entered by an open door into the lighted
square room of the tower. Dampier came forward
in gown and slippers to receive me, giving me the
greeting that I wished, and if I had held a thought
that it might more fitly have been accorded me at
the front door the first look at him dispelled any
sense of his inhospitality.
He was not the same. Hardly past middle age, he
had gone grey and had acquired a pronounced stoop.
His figure was thin and angular, his face deeply
lined, his complexion dead-white, without a touch
of colour. His eyes, unnaturally large, glowed with
a fire that was almost uncanny.
He seated me, proffered a cigar, and with grave
and obvious sincerity assured me of the pleasure
that it gave him to meet me. Some unimportant
conversation followed, but all the while I was dom-
inated by a melancholy sense of the great change
in him. This he must have perceived, for he sud-
denly said with a bright enough smile, 'You are
disappointed in me--non sum qualis eram.'
I hardly knew what to reply, but managed to
say: 'Why, really, I don't know: your Latin is about
the same.'
He brightened again.
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