"You can't come in, then!" she said, looking at him from behind the door, as sharp and as snappish as a young pup learning to keep watch.
"I beg your pardon, I will go in," replied Cornelius with cool civility.
"If you don't take that there hand of yours away," cried the girl with startling shrillness, "I shall set the light at it."
"Indeed! I am not going to have my poor fingers singed!" said Cornelius, very decisively; so saying, he stooped and suddenly blew out the light.
She screamed, dropped the candlestick, and let go the door: we entered; the girl ran away along the passage lit with a faint glimmering light proceeding from the staircase above.
"Do you take me for a housebreaker?" asked Cornelius; "I tell you I want to speak to Mr. Thornton on business."
She stopped short, looked at him with sullen suspicion, and doggedly replied, "Master won't see you; he won't see none but the gentleman from London."
"I am from London," quietly said Cornelius.
She stared for awhile like one bewildered, then opened a side-door whence issued a stream of ruddy light, and muttering something in which the word "London" was alone distinguishable, she showed us in and closed the door upon us.
We found ourselves in a large room, scant of chairs and tables, but so amply stocked with books, globes, maps, stuffed animals, cases of insects, geological specimens, and odd-looking machines and instruments, that we could scarcely find room to stand. A bright fire burned on the wide hearth, yet the whole place had a mouldy air and odour, and looked like a magician's chamber. A lamp suspended from the ceiling, and burning rather dimly, gave a spectral effect. Its circle of light was shed over a square table covered with papers, and by which sat a singular-looking man—one of the numberless magicians of modern times, clad, it is true, in every-day attire, but whose characteristic features, swarthy complexion, and white hair and beard, needed not the flowing robe or mystic belt to seem impressive. He was too intent on examining some important beetle through a magnifying glass to notice our insignificant approach, more than by a certain waving motion of the hand, implying the absolute necessity of silence on our part, and on his the utter impossibility of attending to us. At length he looked up, and fastening a pair of piercing black eyes on Cornelius, he addressed him with the abrupt observation: "Sir, I am intensely busy, but you are welcome; pray be seated."