The Doctor was sitting in a high and curiously-wrought chair, cushioned
with black leather, gilt and ornamented after the antique fashion. His
upper garment was of black serge, the neck and breast furred with
sables. A cap of the same materials concealed his bald and shining head,
giving his pale shrivelled features a peculiar look of learning and hard
study. His face was long, and his beard pointed. Age and anxiety were
indelibly marked upon his lank visage; but his eye was yet undimmed;
small, keen, and restless, it seemed the image of his own insatiable
desire, consuming soul and body in the fire and fervour of its
inordinate and uncontrolled appetite.
"Thy name?" said Dee sharply, as the stranger bowed himself before the
reputed magician.
"Bartholomew Hickman."
"And thy business?" inquired the Doctor, with an inquisitive glance.
"Since your reverence hath dismissed Kelly, you have been but
indifferently served in the capacity of seer; mine errand is to this
purport:--If we agree for wages, I will serve you; and I doubt not but
my faculty of seeing will equal that of Master Kelly, provided you have
a glass whose quality and virtue shall be equivalent.
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