"Come in, Northmour; come in, dear Mr. Cassilis," said a voice from
within.
Pushing open the door, Northmour admitted me before him into the
apartment. As I came in I could see the daughter slipping out by
the side door into the study, which had been prepared as her
bedroom. In the bed, which was drawn back against the wall,
instead of standing, as I had last seen it, boldly across the
window, sat Bernard Huddlestone, the defaulting banker. Little as
I had seen of him by the shifting light of the lantern on the
links, I had no difficulty in recognising him for the same. He had
a long and sallow countenance, surrounded by a long red beard and
side whiskers. His broken nose and high cheekbones gave him
somewhat the air of a Kalmuck, and his light eyes shone with the
excitement of a high fever. He wore a skull-cap of black silk; a
huge Bible lay open before him on the bed, with a pair of gold
spectacles in the place, and a pile of other books lay on the stand
by his side. The green curtains lent a cadaverous shade to his
cheek; and, as he sat propped on pillows, his great stature was
painfully hunched, and his head protruded till it overhung his
knees. I believe if he had not died otherwise, he must have fallen
a victim to consumption in the course of but a very few weeks.
He held out to me a hand, long, thin, and disagreeably hairy.
"Come in, come in, Mr.
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