But with devilish perversity, an immense fog-horn sent forth a heavy blast seaward precisely at the moments he raised his voice.
No matter how far apart or how near he planned the intervals, he was bound to coincide with the deafening horn.
At last in despair he desisted in his efforts, and the monster horn, with hoarse mockery, continued its grewsome noises at dismal intervals, until one, more stentorian than the others, caused the very tempest to hush, and Robert awoke to discover Gratz the cause of his fictitious misery, sleeping upon the cot near the foot of his bed, emitting a series of snores which had managed to communicate their odious telepathy to his slumbering consciousness.
As this singular being lay there in the relaxation and undisguise to which the most diplomatic must submit at times, his countenance, so impassive in his wakeful hours, depicted singular lines of determination.
An expression of tense anxiety contracted his features; resolution held the thin lips in rigid partnership; there was a hint of purpose in the solitary wrinkle which corrugated his forehead; the general aspect was impressive, its suggestion indefatigable.
In this paradoxical fashion, the emotions, concealed during the day, revealed themselves at night.
What in others would have concluded in a vacant mien and colorless repose, in him expressed all that he was so sedulous to conceal.
Scarcely had Robert placed his feet upon the floor when Gratz opened his eyes, awakened partly by the sounds of rising and partly by his tumult of snores, and in an instant the flaccid mask descended over his face, and Gratz was his apathetic self again.
“Well?” inquired Robert.