As Horrod moved to and fro I took occasion to scrutinize his face more narrowly.

I have seldom seen features more calculated to inspire a nervous dread.
The pallor of his face and the whiteness of his hair (the man was at least seventy), and still more the peculiar furtiveness of his eyes, seemed to mark him as one who lived under a great terror.

He moved with a noiseless step and at times he turned his head to glance in the dark corners of the room.
"Sir Jeremy told me," I said, speaking as loudly and as heartily as I could, "that he would apprise you of my coming." I was looking into his face as I spoke.
In answer Horrod laid his finger across his lips and I knew that he was deaf and dumb.

I am not nervous (I think I said that), but the realization that my sole companion in the empty house was a deaf mute struck a cold chill to my heart.
Horrod laid in front of me a cold meat pie, a cold goose, a cheese, and a tall flagon of cider.

But my appetite was gone.