It was a glorious summer day, and outside the thick walls of the turret the sunlight was glancing, and the green trees waving in the wind; but he dared not go out to the free air and the smiling nature, for, if released from the occupation he had created for himself, because it demanded such incessant attention, the current of thought, undiverted from its natural course, would too surely ebb back upon his soul with its waters of exceeding bitterness; and therefore had many years of this old man's wretched life been spent as he was spending this present hour--bending over the glowing crucible, that he might avert the shock of the antagonistic properties which he had purposely combined, in order that his mind might be engaged in preventing the collision. None knew better than himself how profitless and miserable was this existence he had made, but except he fed, even with this food of ashes, the serpent thought that haunted him, it would have preyed on him to madness. Truly that dark fluid, beneath which his withered fingers were even now so busily turning the powerful flame, was an apt symbol of his own life--wasting away before the hidden fire which himself was goaded on to foster hour by hour.
Absorbed as he seemed to be in his strange employment, he nevertheless heard with great acuteness the approach of some person, who knocked softly at the door and then opened it. Sir Michael turned round eagerly; the new comer was a servant, who said quickly, "My lady wishes to speak to you, Sir," and disappeared at once, as though the locality was one in which he by no means desired to find himself.
But the old man had heard the message, and through all the red glow cast by the flaming lamp, his livid face grew ghastlier still with strong emotion. He leant back in his chair, breathing quick and hard, and with his hand pressed to his side; then rising hastily, he gathered the long black garment round him, and left the room, heedless of the boiling liquid, whose ingredients it had required days to combine, and which now, overflowing in the crucible, was lost entirely. Through the vaulted passages of the noble old building the Lord of Randolph Abbey took his way, stealing along within the shadow of the wall, the shrivelled hands still clasped over his bosom, and trembling with agitation. One might have fancied him the spectre of some old miser, creeping back to visit the beloved gold which had turned, as it were, to molten lead, crushing him within his grave; but it was, indeed, hard to believe that this was the possessor of as noble an estate as ever came to a man from the dead hands of a long line of ancestors, and that wealth well nigh untold was at his command. He crossed the great hall, a magnificent room, lighted by an immense Gothic window at the one end, whilst the other was occupied by a large organ, whence he went through various passages, covered with the softest carpets and lined with silken hangings. It was plain that he was on the outskirts of a region where luxury was systematically studied. At length he reached a door, which was closed only by heavy curtains, and there paused for a moment.