The Maid of Maiden Lane

"Then take me with you, and I will repeat them to her face."

"So? Well, then, here we are, at her very door. I know not what she will say--you must make your own excuses, sir."

As she was speaking, they ascended the white steps leading to a very handsome brick house on the west side of Broadway. It had wide iron piazzas and a fine shady garden at the back, sloping down to the river bank; and had altogether, on the outside, the very similitude of a wealthy and fashionable residence. The door was opened by a very dark man, who was not a negro, and who was dressed in a splendid and outlandish manner--a scarlet turban above his straight black hair, and gold-hooped earrings, and a long coat or tunic, heavily embroidered in strange devices.

"He was an Algerine pirate," whispered Arenta. "My Uncle Jacob brought him here--and my aunt trusts him--I would not, not for a moment."

As soon as the front door closed, Joris perceived that he was in an unusual house. The scents and odours of strange countries floated about it. The hall contained many tall jars, full of pungent gums and roots; and upon its walls the weapons of savage nations were crossed in idle and harmless fashion. They went slowly up the highly polished stairway into a large, low parlour, facing the vivid, everyday business drama of Broadway; but the room itself was like an Arabian Night's dream, for the Eastern atmosphere was supplemented by divans and sofas covered with rare cashmere shawls, and rugs of Turkestan, and with cushions of all kinds of oriental splendour. Strange tables of wonderful mosaic work held ivory carvings of priceless worth; and porcelain from unknown lands. Gods and goddesses from the yellow Gehenna of China and the utterable idolatry of India, looked out with brute cruelty, or sempiternal smiles from every odd corner; or gazed with a fascinating prescience from the high chimney-piece upon all who entered.

The effect upon Hyde was instantaneous and uncanny. His Saxon-Dutch nature was in instant revolt against influences so foreign and unnatural. Arenta was unconsciously in sympathy with him; for she said with a shrug of her pretty shoulders, as she looked around, "I have always bad dreams after a visit to this room. Do these things have a life of their own? Look at the creature on that corner shelf! What a serene disdain is in his smile! He seems to gaze into the very depths of your soul. I see that there is a curtain to his shrine; and I shall take leave to draw it." With these words she went to the scornful divinity, and shut his offending eyes behind the folds of his gold-embroidered curtain.