[Chapter V.]
New Wine In An Old Bottle
When Adrian awoke next morning he half thought that the fantastic events of the night were but the outcome of some strange dream, but a single glance in the mirror soon disillusioned him as he saw reflected back the countenance of Dr. Michael Roversmire. It was true then—he had voluntarily placed his soul in the outward semblance of the old man, and would have to lead his life, be bound by his physical restrictions and be to all intents and purposes another person, until such time as the worn-out body died and he could return once more to his own frame. And then there would be the danger of paying the penalty of the crime he had committed. No! there was no safety for him save in the guise of age, and he would have to patiently endure this servitude which he had brought upon himself.
While he was seated on the couch in the disordered sitting-room, wondering what was the first step to take in his new existence, the door opened and a pale, lean man, quietly dressed in black, appeared. This was Dentham, the servant alluded to by Doctor Roversmire, and his appearance by no means impressed Adrian in a favourable manner. Tall, thin and supple, his movements seemed to have the sinuosity of a serpent, and his pallid face, clean shaven and serious, looked cold and cunning under a sparse crop of thin red hair, giving the young man an uneasy feeling of repulsion, similar to that provoked by the sight of a noxious animal. The shifty grey eyes, habitually downcast, the thin lips twitching involuntarily at the corners and the air of self-restraint, all clearly pointed to the fact that this man had a cunning nature and would by no means be averse to performing any treacherous action for the sake of money. Adrian took an immediate dislike to his physiognomy, which dislike was not lessened when he heard the soft, hissing voice which issued from the thin lips.
"Have you not been in bed, sir?" he asked, closing the door softly after him, and coming forward to the centre of the room.
"No," replied Adrian, in a dull voice, feeling it incumbent upon him to keep up the character he had assumed, "I have been engaged in writing and just slept here for a few hours."
Dentham cast a swift glance at the writing materials lying on a desk standing near the window, let his cold glance dwell doubtfully for a moment on his master's face and then spoke again.
"What would you be pleased to have for breakfast, sir?"
"The same as usual," replied Adrian, who had not the slightest idea but that Roversmire might have been a vegetarian, and therefore felt afraid to say anything. "Meanwhile I'll go up to my room and have a bath."
"You will find everything ready, sir," answered Dentham, respectfully holding the door open.