The Face of Rosenfeld — page 211: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

204 THE FACE OF ROSENFEL. He was seized with a sudden trembling at the knees, when he saw who that visitor was. Paler, ghastlier, more funereal than ever, the melancholy Dye, whose woe-begone hat and thread-bare coat exhibited a still deeper shade of desolation, stood upon the threshold. “¢ You pesapead aed «Sir, again.” ‘‘In spite of all that I told you?” ‘Sir, [ have borne your instructions well in mind. I have forgotten nothing. It remains for you to say whether you will admit me or no.” Mr. Dye did not look at Maxey when he addressed him. In truth, he did not seem to have energy or spirit enough left to raise his head, and he certainly did not appear at all anxious to be invited into the room. Lhe growing conviction that this man was not the _ prime mover, but only the instrument in the hands of a more powerful personage who kept himself always in the back ground, leaped to a most mature stage in the artist’s mind. «« Admit you!” he exclaimed, suppressing the tendency to loudness in his tones, for fear of reaching the ears in the adjoining chamber. ‘‘ That I shall do most cer- tainly, since you have come. Walk in, Mr. Dye, and state your business, and let us see if we cannot come to something approaching a mutual understanding. That is a point which we have too long been dodging about, Mr. Dye, and I have a very distinct idea that it would be well for us to reach it to-night.” The somber man raised a look of mild inguiry to the artist’s face—said simply, ‘‘as you will,” and passed into the parlor. | Maxey closed and locked the door, and turned on two of the gas jets. |