He accosted the first policeman and courteously inquired his way. It

turned out that he was already not far from his destination, and a

walk of a few minutes brought him to a small house in a lane, freshly

painted, and kept with the most scrupulous attention. The knocker

and bell-pull were highly polished; flowering pot-herbs garnished the

sills of the different windows; and curtains of some rich material

concealed the interior from the eyes of curious passengers. The

place had an air of repose and secrecy; and Harry was so far caught

with this spirit that he knocked with more than usual discretion, and

was more than usually careful to remove all impurity from his boots.

A servant-maid of some personal attractions immediately opened the

door, and seemed to regard the secretary with no unkind eyes.

"This is the parcel from Lady Vandeleur," said Harry.

"I know," replied the maid, with a nod. "But the gentleman is from

home. Will you leave it with me?"

"I can not," answered Harry. "I am directed not to part with it but

upon a certain condition, and I must ask you, I am afraid, to let me

wait."

"Well," said she, "I suppose I may let you wait. I am lonely enough,

I can tell you, and you do not look as though you would eat a girl.

But be sure and do not ask the gentleman's name, for that I am not to

tell you."

"Do you say so?" cried Harry. "Why, how strange! But indeed for

some time back I walk among surprises. One question I think I may

surely ask without indiscretion: Is he the master of this house?"

"He is a lodger, and not eight days old at that," returned the maid.

"And now a question for a question: Do you know Lady Vandeleur?"

"I am her private secretary," replied Harry, with a glow of modest

pride.

"She is pretty, is she not?" pursued the servant.

"Oh, beautiful!" cried Harry; "wonderfully lovely, and not less good

and kind!"

"You look kind enough yourself," she retorted; "and I wager you are

worth a dozen Lady Vandeleurs."

Harry was properly scandalized.

"I!" he cried. "I am only a secretary!"

"Do you mean that for me?" said the girl. "Because I am only a

housemaid, if you please." And then, relenting at the sight of

Harry's obvious confusion, "I know you mean nothing of the sort," she

added; "and I like your looks; but I think nothing of your Lady

Vandeleur. Oh, these mistresses!" she cried. "To send out a real

gentleman like you--with a bandbox--in broad day!"

During this talk they had remained in their original positions--she

on the doorstep, he on the sidewalk, bareheaded for the sake of

coolness, and with the bandbox on his arm. But upon this last

speech, Harry, who was unable to support such pointblank compliments

to his appearance, nor the encouraging look with which they were

accompanied, began to change his attitude, and glance from left to

right in perturbation. In so doing he turned his face toward the

lower end of the lane, and there, to his indescribable dismay, his

eyes encountered those of General Vandeleur. The General, in a

prodigious fluster of heat, hurry, and indignation, had been scouring

the streets in chase of his brother-in-law; but so soon as he caught

a glimpse of the delinquent secretary, his purpose changed, his anger

flowed into a new channel, and he turned on his heel and came tearing

up the lane with truculent gestures and vociferations.

Harry made but one bolt of it into the house, driving the maid before

him; and the door was slammed in his pursuer's countenance.

"Is there a bar? Will it lock?" asked Harry, while a salvo on the

knocker made the house echo from wall to wall.

"Why, what is wrong with you?" asked the maid. "Is it this old

gentleman?"

"If he gets hold of me," whispered Harry, "I am as good as dead. He

has been pursuing me all day, carries a sword-stick, and is an Indian

military officer."

"These are fine manners," cried the maid. "And what, if you please,

may be his name?"

"It is the General, my master," answered Harry. "He is after this

bandbox."

"Did not I tell you?" cried the maid in triumph. "I told you I

thought worse than nothing of your Lady Vandeleur; and if you had an

eye in your head you might see what she is for yourself. An

ungrateful minx, I will be bound for that!"

The General renewed his attack upon the knocker, and his passion

growing with delay, began to kick and beat upon the panels of the

door.

"It is lucky," observed the girl, "that I am alone in the house; your

General may hammer until he is weary, and there is none to open for

him. Follow me!"

So saying, she led Harry into the kitchen, where she made him sit

down, and stood by him herself in an affectionate attitude, with a

hand upon his shoulder. The din at the door, so far from abating,

continued to increase in volume, and at each blow the unhappy

secretary was shaken to the heart.

"What is your name?" asked the girl.

"Harry Hartley," he replied.

"Mine," she went on, "is Prudence. Do you like it?"

"Very much," said Harry. "But hear for a moment how the General

beats upon the door. He will certainly break it in, and then, in

Heaven's name, what have I to look for but death?"

"You put yourself very much about with no occasion," answered

Prudence. "Let your General knock, he will do no more than blister

his hands. Do you think I would keep you here, if I were not sure to

save you? Oh, no, I am a good friend to those that please me! and we

have a back door upon another lane. But," she added, checking him,

for he had got upon his feet immediately on this welcome news, "but I

will not show you where it is unless you kiss me. Will you, Harry?"

"That I will," he cried, remembering his gallantry, "not for your

back door, but because you are good and pretty."

And he administered two or three cordial salutes, which were returned

to him in kind.

Then Prudence led him to the back gate, and put her hand upon the key.

"Will you come and see me?" she asked.

"I will, indeed," said Harry. "Do not I owe you my life?"

"And now," she added, opening the door, "run as hard as you can, for

I shall let in the General."

Harry scarcely required this advice; fear had him by the forelock;

and he addressed himself diligently to flight. A few steps, and he

believed he would escape from his trials, and return to Lady

Vandeleur in honor and safety. But these few steps had not been

taken before he heard a man's voice hailing him by name with many

execrations, and looking over his shoulder, he beheld Charlie

Pendragon waving him with both arms to return. The shock of this new

incident was so sudden and profound, and Harry was already worked

into so high a state of nervous tension, that he could think of

nothing better than to accelerate his pace, and continue running. He

should certainly have remembered the scene in Kensington Gardens; he

should certainly have concluded that, where the General was his

enemy, Charlie Pendragon could be no other than a friend. But such

was the fever and perturbation of his mind that he was struck by none

of these considerations, and only continued to run the faster up the

lane.

Charlie, by the sound of his voice and the vile terms that he hurled

after the secretary, was obviously beside himself with rage. He,

too, ran his very best; but, try as he might, the physical advantages

were not upon his side, and his outcries and the fall of his lame

foot on the macadam began to fall further and further into the wake.

Harry's hopes began once more to arise. The lane was both steep and

narrow, but it was exceedingly solitary, bordered on either hand by

garden walls, overhung with foliage; and, for as far as the fugitive

could see in front of him, there was neither a creature moving nor an

open door. Providence, weary of persecution, was now offering him an

open field for his escape.

Alas! as he came abreast of a garden door under a tuft of chestnuts,

it was suddenly drawn back, and he could see inside, upon a garden

path, the figure of a butcher's boy with his tray upon his arm. He

had hardly recognized the fact before he was some steps beyond upon

the other side. But the fellow had had time to observe him; he was

evidently much surprised to see a gentleman go by at so unusual a

pace; and he came out into the lane and began to call after Harry

with shouts of ironical encouragement.

His appearance gave a new idea to Charlie Pendragon, who, although he

was now sadly out of breath, once more upraised his voice.

"Stop thief!" he cried.

And immediately the butcher's boy had taken up the cry and joined in

the pursuit.

This was a bitter moment for the hunted secretary. It is true that

his terror enabled him once more to improve his pace, and gain with

every step on his pursuers; but he was well aware that he was near

the end of his resources, and should he meet any one coming the other

way, his predicament in the narrow lane would be desperate indeed.

"I must find a place of concealment," he thought, "and that within

the next few seconds, or all is over with me in this world."

Scarcely had the thought crossed his mind than the lane took a sudden

turning; and he found himself hidden from his enemies. There are

circumstances in which even the least energetic of mankind learn to

behave with vigor and decision; and the most cautious forget their

prudence and embrace foolhardy resolutions. This was one of those

occasions for Harry Hartley; and those who knew him best would have

been the most astonished at the lad's audacity. He stopped dead,

flung the bandbox over a garden wall; and leaping upward with

incredible agility and seizing the copestone with his hands, he

tumbled headlong after it into the garden.

He came to himself a moment afterward, seated in a border of small

rose-bushes. His hands and knees were cut and bleeding, for the wall

had been protected against such an escalade by a liberal provision of

old bottles; and he was conscious of a general dislocation and a

painful swimming in the head. Facing him across the garden, which

was in admirable order, and set with flowers of the most delicious

perfume, he beheld the back of a house. It was of considerable

extent, and plainly habitable; but, in odd contrast to the grounds,

it was crazy, ill-kept, and of a mean appearance. On all other sides

the circuit of the garden wall appeared unbroken.

He took in these features of the scene with mechanical glances, but

his mind was still unable to piece together or draw a rational

conclusion from what he saw. And when he heard footsteps advancing

on the gravel, although he turned his eyes in that direction, it was

with no thought either for defense or flight.

The newcomer was a large, coarse, and very sordid personage, in

gardening clothes, and with a watering-pot in his left hand. One

less confused would have been affected with some alarm at the sight

of this man's huge proportions and black and lowering eyes. But

Harry was too gravely shaken by his fall to be so much as terrified;

and if he was unable to divert his glances from the gardener, he

remained absolutely passive, and suffered him to draw near, to take

him by the shoulder, and to plant him roughly on his feet, without a

motion of resistance.

For a moment the two stared into each other's eyes, Harry fascinated,

the man filled with wrath and a cruel, sneering humor.

"Who are you?" he demanded at last. "Who are you to come flying over

my wall and break my _Gloire de Dijons_? What is your name?" he

added, shaking him; "and what may be your business here?"

Harry could not as much as proffer a word in explanation.

But just at that moment Pendragon and the butcher's boy went clumping

past, and the sound of their feet and their hoarse cries echoed

loudly in the narrow lane. The gardener had received his answer; and

he looked down into Harry's face with an obnoxious smile.

"A thief!" he said. "Upon my word, and a very good thing you must

make of it; for I see you dressed like a gentleman from top to toe.

Are you not ashamed to go about the world in such a trim, with honest

folk, I dare say, glad to buy your cast-off finery second-hand.

Speak up, you dog," the man went on; "you can understand English, I

suppose; and I mean to have a bit of talk with you before I march you

to the station."

"Indeed, sir," said Harry, "this is all a dreadful misconception; and

if you will go with me to Sir Thomas Vandeleur's in Eaton Place, I

can promise that all will be made plain. The most upright person, as

I now perceive, can be led into suspicious positions."

"My little man," replied the gardener, "I will go with you no further

than the station-house in the next street. The inspector, no doubt,

will be glad to take a stroll with you as far as Eaton Place, and

have a bit of afternoon tea with your great acquaintances. Or would

you prefer to go direct to the Home Secretary? Sir Thomas Vandeleur,

indeed! Perhaps you think I don't know a gentleman when I see one

from a common run-the-hedge like you? Clothes or no clothes, I can

read you like a book. Here is a shirt that maybe cost as much as my

Sunday hat; and that coat, I take it, has never seen the inside of

Rag-fair, and then your boots--"

The man, whose eyes had fallen upon the ground, stopped short in his

insulting commentary, and remained for a moment looking intently upon

something at his feet. When he spoke his voice was strangely altered.

"What, in God's name," said he, "is all this?"

Harry, following the direction of the man's eyes, beheld a spectacle

that struck him dumb with terror and amazement. In his fall he had

descended vertically upon the bandbox and burst it open from end to

end; thence a great treasure of diamonds had poured forth, and now

lay abroad, part trodden in the soil, part scattered on the surface

in regal and glittering profusion. There was a magnificent coronet

which he had often admired on Lady Vandeleur; there were rings and

brooches, ear-drops and bracelets, and even unset brilliants rolling

here and there among the rose-bushes like drops of morning dew. A

princely fortune lay between the two men upon the ground--a fortune

in the most inviting, solid, and durable form, capable of being

carried in an apron, beautiful in itself, and scattering the sunlight

in a million rainbow flashes.

"Good God!" said Harry, "I am lost!"

His mind raced backward into the past with the incalculable velocity

of thought, and he began to comprehend his day's adventures, to

conceive them as a whole, and to recognize the sad imbroglio in which

his own character and fortunes had become involved. He looked round

him as if for help, but he was alone in the garden, with his

scattered diamonds and his redoubtable interlocutor; and when he gave

ear, there was no sound but the rustle of the leaves and the hurried

pulsation of his heart. It was little wonder if the young man felt

himself deserted by his spirits, and with a broken voice repeated his

last ejaculation:

"I am lost!"

The gardener peered in all directions with an air of guilt; but there

was no face at any of the windows, and he seemed to breathe again.

"Pick up a heart," he said, "you fool! The worst of it is done. Why

could you not say at first there was enough for two? Two?" he

repeated, "aye, and for two hundred! But come away from here, where

we may be observed; and, for the love of wisdom, straighten out your

hat and brush your clothes. You could not travel two steps the

figure of fun you look just now."

While Harry mechanically adopted these suggestions, the gardener,

getting upon his knees, hastily drew together the scattered jewels

and returned them to the bandbox. The touch of these costly crystals

sent a shiver of emotion through the man's stalwart frame; his face

was transfigured, and his eyes shone with concupiscence; indeed it

seemed as if he luxuriously prolonged his occupation, and dallied

with every diamond that he handled. At last, however, it was done;

and, concealing the bandbox in his smock, the gardener beckoned to

Harry and preceded him in the direction of the house.

Near the door they were met by a young man evidently in holy orders,

dark and strikingly handsome, with a look of mingled weakness and

resolution, and very neatly attired after the manner of his caste.

The gardener was plainly annoyed by this encounter; but he put as

good a face upon it as he could, and accosted the clergyman with an

obsequious and smiling air.

"Here is a fine afternoon, Mr. Rolles," said he: "a fine afternoon,

as sure as God made it! And here is a young friend of mine who had a

fancy to look at my roses. I took the liberty to bring him in, for I

thought none of the lodgers would object."

"Speaking for myself," replied the Reverend Mr. Rolles, "I do not;

nor do I fancy any of the rest of us would be more difficult upon so

small a matter. The garden is your own, Mr. Raeburn; we must none of

us forget that; and because you give us liberty to walk there we

should be indeed ungracious if we so far presumed upon your

politeness as to interfere with the convenience of your friends.

But, on second thoughts," he added, "I believe that this gentleman

and I have met before. Mr. Hartley, I think. I regret to observe

that you have had a fall."

And he offered his hand.

A sort of maiden dignity and a desire to delay as long as possible

the necessity for explanation moved Harry to refuse this chance of

help, and to deny his own identity. He chose the tender mercies of

the gardener, who was at least unknown to him, rather than the

curiosity and perhaps the doubts of an acquaintance.

"I fear there is some mistake," said he. "My name is Thomlinson and

I am a friend of Mr. Raeburn's."

"Indeed?" said Mr. Rolles. "The likeness is amazing."

Mr. Raeburn, who had been upon thorns throughout this colloquy, now

felt it high time to bring it to a period.

"I wish you a pleasant saunter, sir," said he.

And with that he dragged Harry after him into the house, and then

into a chamber on the garden. His first care was to draw down the

blind, for Mr. Rolles still remained where they had left him, in an

attitude of perplexity and thought. Then he emptied the broken

bandbox on the table, and stood before the treasure, thus fully

displayed, with an expression of rapturous greed, and rubbing his

hands upon his thighs. For Harry, the sight of the man's face under

the influence of this base emotion, added another pang to those he

was already suffering. It seemed incredible that, from his life of

pure and delicate trifling, he should be plunged in a breath among

sordid and criminal relations. He could reproach his conscience with

no sinful act; and yet he was now suffering the punishment of sin in

its most acute and cruel forms--the dread of punishment, the

suspicions of the good, and the companionship and contamination of

vile and brutal natures. He felt he could lay his life down with

gladness to escape from the room and the society of Mr. Raeburn.

"And now," said the latter, after he had separated the jewels into

two nearly equal parts, and drawn one of them nearer to himself; "and

now," said he, "everything in this world has to be paid for, and some

things sweetly. You must know, Mr. Hartley, if such be your name,

that I am a man of a very easy temper, and good nature has been my

stumbling-block from first to last. I could pocket the whole of

these pretty pebbles, if I chose, and I should like to see you dare

to say a word; but I think I must have taken a liking to you; for I

declare I have not the heart to shave you so close. So, do you see,

in pure kind feeling, I propose that we divide; and these,"

indicating the two heaps, "are the proportions that seem to me just

and friendly. Do you see any objection, Mr. Hartley, may I ask? I

am not the man to stick upon a brooch."

"But, sir," cried Harry, "what you propose to me is impossible. The

jewels are not mine, and I can not share what is another's, no matter

with whom, nor in what proportions."

"They are not yours, are they not?" returned Raeburn. "And you could

not share them with anybody, couldn't you? Well now, that is what I

call a pity; for here am I obliged to take you to the station. The

police--think of that," he continued; "think of the disgrace for your

respectable parents; think," he went on, taking Harry by the wrist;

"think of the Colonies and the Day of Judgment."

"I can not help it," wailed Harry. "It is not my fault. You will

not come with me to Eaton Place?"

"No," replied the man, "I will not, that is certain. And I mean to

divide these playthings with you here."

And so saying he applied a sudden and severe torsion to the lad's

wrist.

Harry could not suppress a scream, and the perspiration burst forth

upon his face. Perhaps pain and terror quickened his intelligence,

but certainly at that moment the whole business flashed across him in

another light; and he saw that there was nothing for it but to accede

to the ruffian's proposal, and trust to find the house and force him

to disgorge, under more favorable circumstances, and when he himself

was clear from all suspicion. "I agree," he said.

"There is a lamb," sneered the gardener. "I thought you would

recognize your interests at last. This bandbox," he continued, "I

shall burn with my rubbish; it is a thing that curious folk might

recognize; and as for you, scrape up your gaieties and put them in

your pocket."

Harry proceeded to obey, Raeburn watching him, and every now and

again, his greed rekindled by some bright scintillation, abstracting

another jewel from the secretary's share, and adding it to his own.

When this was finished, both proceeded to the front door, which

Raeburn cautiously opened to observe the street. This was apparently

clear of passengers; for he suddenly seized Harry by the nape of the

neck, and holding his face downward so that he could see nothing but

the roadway and the doorsteps of the houses, pushed him violently

before him down one street and up another for the space of perhaps a

minute and a half. Harry had counted three corners before the bully

relaxed his grasp, and crying, "Now be off with you!" sent the lad

flying headforemost with a well-directed and athletic kick.

When Harry gathered himself up, half-stunned and bleeding freely at

the nose, Mr. Raeburn had entirely disappeared. For the first time,

anger and pain so completely overcame the lad's spirits that he burst

into a fit of tears and remained sobbing in the middle of the road.

After he had thus somewhat assuaged his emotion, he began to look

about him and read the names of the streets at whose intersection he

had been deserted by the gardener. He was still in an unfrequented

portion of West London, among villas and large gardens; but he could

see some persons at a window who had evidently witnessed his

misfortune; and almost immediately after a servant came running from

the house and offered him a glass of water. At the same time, a

dirty rogue, who had been slouching somewhere in the neighborhood,

drew near him from the other side.

"Poor fellow," said the maid, "how vilely you have been handled, to

be sure! Why, your knees are all cut, and your clothes ruined! Do

you know the wretch who used you so?"

"That I do!" cried Harry, who was somewhat refreshed by the water;

"and shall run him home in spite of his precautions. He shall pay

dearly for this day's work, I promise you."

"You had better come into the house and have yourself washed and

brushed," continued the maid. "My mistress will make you welcome,

never fear. And see, I will pick up your hat. Why, love of mercy!"

she screamed, "if you have not dropped diamonds all over the street!"

Such was the case; a good half of what remained to him, after the

depredations of Mr. Raeburn, had been shaken out of his pockets by

the somersault and once more lay glittering on the ground. He

blessed his fortune that the maid had been so quick of eye; "there is

nothing so bad but it might be worse," thought he; and the recovery

of these few seemed to him almost as great an affair as the loss of

all the rest. But, alas! as he stooped to pick up his treasures, the

loiterer made a rapid onslaught, overset both Harry and the maid with

a movement of his arms, swept up a double handful of the diamonds,

and made off along the street with an amazing swiftness.

Harry, as soon as he could get upon his feet, gave chase to the

miscreant with many cries, but the latter was too fleet of foot, and

probably too well acquainted with the locality; for turn where the

pursuer would he could find no traces of the fugitive.

In the deepest despondency, Harry revisited the scene of his mishap,

where the maid, who was still waiting, very honestly returned him his

hat and the remainder of the fallen diamonds. Harry thanked her from

his heart, and being now in no humor for economy, made his way to the

nearest cabstand and set off for Eaton Place by coach.

The house, on his arrival, seemed in some confusion, as if a

catastrophe had happened in the family; and the servants clustered

together in the hall, and were unable, or perhaps not altogether

anxious, to suppress their merriment at the tatterdemalion figure of

the secretary. He passed them with as good an air of dignity as he

could assume, and made directly for the boudoir. When he opened the

door an astonishing and even menacing spectacle presented itself to

his eyes; for he beheld the General and his wife, and, of all people,

Charlie Pendragon, closeted together and speaking with earnestness

and gravity on some important subject. Harry saw at once that there

was little left for him to explain--plenary confession had plainly

been made to the General of the intended fraud upon his pocket, and

the unfortunate miscarriage of the scheme; and they had all made

common cause against a common danger.

"Thank Heaven!" cried Lady Vandeleur, "here he is! The bandbox,

Harry--the bandbox!"

But Harry stood before them silent and downcast.

"Speak!" she cried. "Speak! Where is the bandbox?"

And the men, with threatening gestures, repeated the demand.

Harry drew a handful of jewels from his pocket. He was very white.

"This is all that remains," said he. "I declare before Heaven it was

through no fault of mine; and if you will have patience, although

some are lost, I am afraid, forever, others, I am sure, may be still

recovered."

"Alas!" cried Lady Vandeleur, "all our diamonds are gone, and I owe

ninety thousand pounds for dress!"

"Madam," said the General, "you might have paved the gutter with your

own trash; you might have made debts to fifty times the sum you

mention; you might have robbed me of my mother's coronet and ring;

and Nature might have still so far prevailed that I could have

forgiven you at last. But, madam, you have taken the Rajah's

Diamond--the Eye of Light, as the Orientals poetically termed it--the

Pride of Kashgar! You have taken from me the Rajah's Diamond," he

cried, raising his hands, "and all, madam, all is at an end between

us!"

"Believe me, General Vandeleur," she replied, "that is one of the

most agreeable speeches that ever I heard from your lips; and since

we are to be ruined, I could almost welcome the change, if it

delivers me from you. You have told me often enough that I married

you for your money; let me tell you now that I always bitterly

repented the bargain; and if you were still marriageable, and had a

diamond bigger than your head, I should counsel even my maid against

a union so uninviting and disastrous. As for you, Mr. Hartley," she

continued, turning on the secretary, "you have sufficiently exhibited

your valuable qualities in this house; we are now persuaded that you

equally lack manhood, sense, and self-respect; and I can see only one

course open for you--to withdraw instanter, and, if possible, return

no more. For your wages you may rank as a creditor in my late

husband's bankruptcy."

Harry had scarcely comprehended this insulting address before the

General was down upon him with another.

"And in the meantime," said that personage, "follow me before the

nearest Inspector of Police. You may impose upon a simple-minded

soldier, sir, but the eye of the law will read your disreputable

secret. If I must spend my old age in poverty through your underhand

intriguing with my wife, I mean at least that you shall not remain

unpunished for your pains; and God, sir, will deny me a very

considerable satisfaction if you do not pick oakum from now until

your dying day."

With that, the General dragged Harry from the apartment, and hurried

him downstairs and along the street to the police-station of the

district.

[Here, says my Arabian author, ended this deplorable business of the

bandbox. But to the unfortunate secretary the whole affair was the

beginning of a new and manlier life. The police were easily

persuaded of his innocence; and, after he had given what help he

could in the subsequent investigations, he was even complimented by

one of the chiefs of the detective department on the probity and

simplicity of his behavior. Several persons interested themselves in

one so unfortunate; and soon after he inherited a sum of money from a

maiden aunt in Worcestershire. With this he married Prudence, and

set sail for Bendigo, or according to another account, for

Trincomalee, exceedingly content, and with the best of prospects.]

STORY OF THE YOUNG MAN IN HOLY ORDERS

The Reverend Mr. Simon Rolles had distinguished himself in the Moral

Sciences, and was more than usually proficient in the study of

Divinity. His essay "On the Christian Doctrine of the Social

Obligations" obtained for him, at the moment of its production, a

certain celebrity in the University of Oxford; and it was understood

in clerical and learned circles that young Mr. Rolles had in

contemplation a considerable work--a folio, it was said--on the

authority of the Fathers of the Church. These attainments, these

ambitious designs, however, were far from helping him to any

preferment; and he was still in quest of his first curacy when a

chance ramble in that part of London, the peaceful and rich aspect of

the garden, a desire for solitude and study, and the cheapness of the

lodging, led him to take up his abode with Mr. Raeburn, the

nurseryman of Stockdove Lane.

It was his habit every afternoon, after he had worked seven or eight

hours on St. Ambrose or St. Chrysostom, to walk for a while in

meditation among the roses. And this was usually one of the most

productive moments of his day. But even a sincere appetite for

thought, and the excitement of grave problems awaiting solution, are

not always sufficient to preserve the mind of the philosopher against

the petty shocks and contacts of the world. And when Mr. Rolles

found General Vandeleur's secretary, ragged and bleeding, in the

company of his landlord; when he saw both change color and seek to

avoid his questions; and, above all, when the former denied his own

identity with the most unmoved assurance, he speedily forgot the

Saints and Fathers in the vulgar interest of curiosity.

"I can not be mistaken," thought he. "That is Mr. Hartley beyond a

doubt. How comes he in such a pickle? why does he deny his name? and

what can be his business with that black-looking ruffian, my

landlord?"

As he was thus reflecting, another peculiar circumstance attracted

his attention. The face of Mr. Raeburn appeared at a low window next

the door; and, as chance directed, his eyes met those of Mr. Rolles.

The nurseryman seemed disconcerted, and even alarmed; and immediately

after the blind of the apartment was pulled sharply down.

"This may all be very well," reflected Mr. Rolles; "it may be all

excellently well; but I confess freely that I do not think so.

Suspicious, underhand, untruthful, fearful of observation--I believe

upon my soul," he thought, "the pair are plotting some disgraceful

action."

The detective that there is in all of us awoke and became clamant in

the bosom of Mr. Rolles; and with a brisk, eager step, that bore no

resemblance to his usual gait, he proceeded to make the circuit of

the garden. When he came to the scene of Harry's escalade, his eye

was at once arrested by a broken rose-bush and marks of trampling on

the mold. He looked up, and saw scratches on the brick, and a rag of

trouser floating from a broken bottle. This, then, was the mode of

entrance chosen by Mr. Raeburn's particular friend! It was thus that

General Vandeleur's secretary came to admire a flower-garden! The

young clergyman whistled softly to himself as he stooped to examine

the ground. He could make out where Harry had landed from his

perilous leap; he recognized the flat foot of Mr. Raeburn where it

had sunk deeply in the soil as he pulled up the secretary by the

collar; nay, on a closer inspection, he seemed to distinguish the

marks of groping fingers, as though something had been spilled abroad

and eagerly collected.

"Upon my word," he thought, "the thing grows vastly interesting."

And just then he caught sight of something almost entirely buried in

the earth. In an instant he had disinterred a dainty morocco case,

ornamented and clasped in gilt. It had been trodden heavily

underfoot, and thus escaped the hurried search of Mr. Raeburn. Mr.

Rolles opened the case, and drew a long breath of almost horrified

astonishment; for there lay before him, in a cradle of green velvet,

a diamond of prodigious magnitude and of the finest water. It was of

the bigness of a duck's egg; beautifully shaped, and without a flaw;

and as the sun shone upon it, it gave forth a lustre like that of

electricity, and seemed to burn in his hand with a thousand internal

fires.

He knew little of precious stones; but the Rajah's Diamond was a

wonder that explained itself; a village child, if he found it, would

run screaming for the nearest cottage; and a savage would prostrate

himself in adoration before so imposing a fetish. The beauty of the

stone flattered the young clergyman's eyes; the thought of its

incalculable value overpowered his intellect. He knew that what he

held in his hand was worth more than many years' purchase of an

archiepiscopal see; that it would build cathedrals more stately than

Ely or Cologne; that he who possessed it was set free forever from

the primal curse, and might follow his own inclinations without

concern or hurry, without let or hindrance. And as he suddenly

turned it, the rays leaped forth again with renewed brilliancy, and

seemed to pierce his very heart.

Decisive actions are often taken in a moment and without any

conscious deliverance from the rational parts of man. So it was now

with Mr. Rolles. He glanced hurriedly round; beheld, like Mr.

Raeburn before him, nothing but the sunlit flower-garden, the tall

treetops, and the house with blinded windows; and in a trice he had

shut the case, thrust it into his pocket, and was hastening to his

study with the speed of guilt.

The Reverend Simon Rolles had stolen the Rajah's Diamond.

Early in the afternoon the police arrived with Harry Hartley. The

nurseryman, who was beside himself with terror, readily discovered

his hoard; and the jewels were identified and inventoried in the

presence of the secretary. As for Mr. Rolles, he showed himself in a

most obliging temper, communicated what he knew with freedom, and

professed regret that he could do no more to help the officers in

their duty.

"Still," he added, "I suppose your business is nearly at an end."

"By no means," replied the man from Scotland Yard; and he narrated

the second robbery of which Harry had been the immediate victim, and

gave the young clergyman a description of the more important jewels

that were still not found, dilating particularly on the Rajah's

Diamond.

"It must be worth a fortune," observed Mr. Rolles.

"Ten fortunes--twenty fortunes," cried the officer.

"The more it is worth," remarked Simon shrewdly, "the more difficult

it must be to sell. Such a thing has a physiognomy not to be

disguised, and I should fancy a man might as easily negotiate St.

Paul's Cathedral."

"Oh, truly!" said the officer; "but if the thief be a man of any

intelligence, he will cut it into three or four, and there will be

still enough to make him rich."

"Thank you," said the clergyman. "You can not imagine how much your

conversation interests me."

Whereupon the functionary admitted that they knew many strange things

in his profession, and immediately after took his leave.

Mr. Rolles regained his apartment. It seemed smaller and barer than

usual; the materials for his great work had never presented so little

interest; and he looked upon his library with the eye of scorn. He

took down, volume by volume, several Fathers of the Church, and

glanced them through; but they contained nothing to his purpose.

"These old gentlemen," thought he, "are no doubt very valuable

writers, but they seem to me conspicuously ignorant of life. Here am

I, with learning enough to be a Bishop, and I positively do not know

how to dispose of a stolen diamond. I glean a hint from a common

policeman, and, with all my folios, I can not so much as put it into

execution. This inspires me with very low ideas of University

training."

Herewith he kicked over his book-shelf and, putting on his hat,

hastened from the house to the club of which he was a member. In

such a place of mundane resort he hoped to find some man of good

counsel and a shrewd experience in life. In the reading-room he saw

many of the country clergy and an Archdeacon; there were three

journalists and a writer upon the Higher Metaphysic, playing pool;

and at dinner only the raff of ordinary club frequenters showed their

commonplace and obliterated countenances. None of these, thought Mr.

Rolles, would know more on dangerous topics than he knew himself;

none of them were fit to give him guidance in his present strait. At

length, in the smoking-room, up many weary stairs, he hit upon a

gentleman of somewhat portly build and dressed with conspicuous

plainness. He was smoking a cigar and reading the "Fortnightly

Review"; his face was singularly free from all sign of preoccupation

or fatigue; and there was something in his air which seemed to invite

confidence and to expect submission. The more the young clergyman

scrutinized his features, the more he was convinced that he had

fallen on one capable of giving pertinent advice.

"Sir," said he, "you will excuse my abruptness; but I judge you from

your appearance to be preeminently a man of the world."

"I have indeed considerable claims to that distinction," replied the

stranger, laying aside his magazine with a look of mingled amusement

and surprise.

"I, sir," continued the Curate, "am a recluse, a student, a creature

of ink-bottles and patristic folios. A recent event has brought my

folly vividly before my eyes, and I desire to instruct myself in

life. By life," he added, "I do not mean Thackeray's novels; but the

crimes and secret possibilities of our society, and the principles of

wise conduct among exceptional events. I am a patient reader; can

the thing be learned in books?"

"You put me in a difficulty," said the stranger. "I confess I have

no great notion of the use of books, except to amuse a railway

journey; although, I believe, there are some very exact treatises on

astronomy, the use of the globes, agriculture, and the art of making

paper-flowers. Upon the less apparent provinces of life I fear you

will find nothing truthful. Yet stay," he added, "have you read

Gaboriau?"

Mr. Rolles admitted he had never even heard the name.

"You may gather some notions from Gaboriau," resumed the stranger.

"He is at least suggestive; and as he is an author much studied by

Prince Bismarck, you will, at the worst, lose your time in good

society."

"Sir," said the Curate, "I am infinitely obliged by your politeness."

"You have already more than repaid me," returned the other.

"How?" inquired Simon.

"By the novelty of your request," replied the gentleman; and with a

polite gesture, as though to ask permission, he resumed the study of

the "Fortnightly Review."

On his way home Mr. Rolles purchased a work on precious stones and

several of Gaboriau's novels. These last he eagerly skimmed until an

advanced hour in the morning; but although they introduced him to

many new ideas, he could nowhere discover what to do with a stolen

diamond. He was annoyed, moreover, to find the information scattered

among romantic story-telling, instead of soberly set forth after the

manner of a manual; and he concluded that, even if the writer had

thought much upon these subjects, he was totally lacking in

educational method. For the character and attainments of Lecoq,

however, he was unable to contain his admiration.

"He was truly a great creature," ruminated Mr. Rolles. "He knew the

world as I know Paley's Evidences. There was nothing that he could

not carry to a termination with his own hand, and against the largest

odds. Heavens!" he broke out suddenly, "is not this the lesson?

Must I not learn to cut diamonds for myself?"

It seemed to him as if he had sailed at once out of his perplexities;

he remembered that he knew a jeweler, one B. Macculloch, in

Edinburgh, who would be glad to put him in the way of the necessary

training; a few months, perhaps a few years, of sordid toil, and he

would be sufficiently expert to divide and sufficiently cunning to

dispose with advantage of the Rajah's Diamond. That done, he might

return to pursue his researches at leisure, a wealthy and luxurious

student, envied and respected by all. Golden visions attended him

through his slumber, and he awoke refreshed and light-hearted with

the morning sun.

Mr. Raeburn's house was on that day to be closed by the police, and

this afforded a pretext for his departure. He cheerfully prepared

his baggage, transported it to King's Cross, where he left it in the

cloak room, and returned to the club to while away the afternoon and

dine.

"If you dine here to-day, Rolles," observed an acquaintance, "you may

see two of the most remarkable men in England--Prince Florizel of

Bohemia and old Jack Vandeleur."

"I have heard of the Prince," replied Mr. Rolles; "and General

Vandeleur I have even met in society."

"General Vandeleur is an ass!" returned the other. "This is his

brother John, the biggest adventurer, the best judge of precious

stones, and one of the most acute diplomatists in Europe. Have you

never heard of his duel with the Duc de Val d'Orge? of his exploits

and atrocities when he was Dictator of Paraguay? of his dexterity in

recovering Sir Samuel Levi's jewelry? nor of his services in the

Indian Mutiny--services by which the Government profited, but which

the Government dared not recognize? You make me wonder what we mean

by fame, or even by infamy; for Jack Vandeleur has prodigious claims

to both. Run downstairs," he continued, "take a table near them, and

keep your ears open. You will hear some strange talk, or I am much

misled."

"But how shall I know them?" inquired the clergyman.

"Know them!" cried his friend; "why, the Prince is the finest

gentleman in Europe, the only living creature who looks like a king;

and as for Jack Vandeleur, if you can imagine Ulysses at seventy

years of age, and with a sabre-cut across his face, you have the man

before you! Know them, indeed! Why, you could pick either of them

out of a Derby day!"

Rolles eagerly hurried to the dining-room. It was as his friend had

asserted; it was impossible to mistake the pair in question. Old

John Vandeleur was of a remarkable force of body, and obviously

broken to the most difficult exercises. He had neither the carriage

of a swordsman, nor of a sailor, nor yet of one much inured to the

saddle; but something made up of all these, and the result and

expression of many different habits and dexterities. His features

were bold and aquiline; his expression arrogant and predatory; his

whole appearance that of a swift, violent, unscrupulous man of

action; and his copious white hair and the deep sabre-cut that

traversed his nose and temple added a note of savagery to a head

already remarkable and menacing in itself.

In his companion, the Prince of Bohemia, Mr. Rolles was astonished to

recognize the gentleman who had recommended him the study of

Gaboriau. Doubtless Prince Florizel, who rarely visited the club, of

which, as of most others, he was an honorary member, had been waiting

for John Vandeleur when Simon accosted him on the previous evening.

The other diners had modestly retired into the angles of the room,

and left the distinguished pair in a certain isolation, but the young

clergyman was unrestrained by any sentiment of awe, and, marching

boldly up, took his place at the nearest table.

The conversation was, indeed, new to the student's ears. The

ex-Dictator of Paraguay stated many extraordinary experiences in

different quarters of the world; and the Prince supplied a commentary

which, to a man of thought, was even more interesting than the events

themselves. Two forms of experience were thus brought together and

laid before the young clergyman; and he did not know which to admire

the most--the desperate actor, or the skilled expert in life; the man

who spoke boldly of his own deeds and perils, or the man who seemed,

like a god, to know all things and to have suffered nothing. The

manner of each aptly fitted with his part in the discourse. The

Dictator indulged in brutalities alike of speech and gesture; his

hand opened and shut and fell roughly on the table; and his voice was

loud and heady. The Prince, on the other hand, seemed the very type

of urbane docility and quiet; the least movement, the least

inflection, had with him a weightier significance than all the shouts

and pantomime of his companion; and if ever, as must frequently have

been the case, he described some experience personal to himself, it

was so aptly dissimulated as to pass unnoticed with the rest.

At length the talk wandered on to the late robberies and the Rajah's

Diamond.

"That diamond would be better in the sea," observed Prince Florizel.

"As a Vandeleur," replied the Dictator, "your Highness may imagine my

dissent."

"I speak on grounds of public policy," pursued the Prince. "Jewels

so valuable should be reserved for the collection of a Prince or the

treasury of a great nation. To hand them about among the common sort

of men is to set a price on Virtue's head; and if the Rajah of

Kashgar--a Prince, I understand, of great enlightenment--desired

vengeance upon the men of Europe, he could hardly have gone more

efficaciously about his purpose than by sending us this apple of

discord. There is no honesty too robust for such a trial. I myself,

who have many duties and many privileges of my own--I myself, Mr.

Vandeleur, could scarce handle the intoxicating crystal and be safe.

As for you, who are a diamond-hunter by taste and profession, I do

not believe there is a crime in the calendar you would not

perpetrate--I do not believe you have a friend in the world whom you

would not eagerly betray--I do not know if you have a family, but if

you have I declare you would sacrifice your children--and all this

for what? Not to be richer, nor to have more comforts or more

respect, but simply to call this diamond yours for a year or two

until you die, and now and again to open a safe and look at it as one

looks at a picture."

"It is true," replied Vandeleur. "I have hunted most things, from

men and women down to mosquitoes; I have dived for coral; I have

followed both whales and tigers; and a diamond is the tallest quarry

of the lot. It has beauty and worth; it alone can properly reward

the ardors of the chase. At this moment, as your Highness may fancy,

I am upon the trail; I have a sure knack, a wide experience; I know

every stone of price in my brother's collection as a shepherd knows

his sheep; and I wish I may die if I do not recover them every one!"

"Sir Thomas Vandeleur will have great cause to thank you," said the

Prince.

"I am not so sure," returned the Dictator, with a laugh. "One of the

Vandeleurs will. Thomas or John--Peter or Paul--we are all apostles."

"I did not catch your observation," said the Prince with some disgust.

And at the same moment the waiter informed Mr. Vandeleur that his cab

was at the door.

Mr. Rolles glanced at the clock, and saw that he also must be moving;

and the coincidence struck him sharply and unpleasantly, for he

desired to see no more of the diamond-hunter.

Much study having somewhat shaken the young man's nerves, he was in

the habit of traveling in the most luxurious manner; and for the

present journey he had taken a sofa in the sleeping carriage.

"You will be very comfortable," said the guard; "there is no one in

your compartment, and only one old gentleman in the other end."

It was close upon the hour, and the tickets were being examined, when

Mr. Rolles beheld this other fellow-passenger ushered by several

porters into his place; certainly, there was not another man in the

world whom he would not have preferred--for it was old John

Vandeleur, the ex-Dictator.

The sleeping carriages on the Great Northern line were divided into

three compartments--one at each end for travelers, and one in the

centre fitted with the conveniences of a lavatory. A door running in

grooves separated each of the others from the lavatory; but as there

were neither bolts nor locks, the whole suite was practically common

ground.

When Mr. Rolles had studied his position, he perceived himself

without defense. If the Dictator chose to pay him a visit in the

course of the night, he could do no less than receive it; he had no

means of fortification, and lay open to attack as if he had been

lying in the fields. This situation caused him some agony of mind.

He recalled with alarm the boastful statements of his fellow-traveler

across the dining-table, and the professions of immorality which he

had heard him offering to the disgusted Prince. Some persons, he

remembered to have read, are endowed with a singular quickness of

perception for the neighborhood of precious metals; through walls and

even at considerable distances they are said to divine the presence

of gold. Might it not be the same with diamonds? he wondered; and if

so, who was more likely to enjoy this transcendental sense than the

person who gloried in the appellation of the Diamond Hunter? From

such a man he recognized that he had everything to fear, and longed

eagerly for the arrival of the day.

In the meantime he neglected no precaution, concealed his diamond in

the most internal pocket of a system of greatcoats, and devoutly

recommended himself to the care of Providence.

The train pursued its usual even and rapid course; and nearly half

the journey had been accomplished before slumber began to triumph

over uneasiness in the breast of Mr. Rolles. For some time he

resisted its influence; but it grew upon him more and more, and a

little before York he was fain to stretch himself upon one of the

couches and suffer his eyes to close; and almost at the same instant

consciousness deserted the young clergyman. His last thought was of

his terrifying neighbor.

When he awoke it was still pitch dark except for the flicker of the

veiled lamp; and the continual roaring and oscillation testified to

the unrelaxed velocity of the train. He sat upright in a panic, for

he had been tormented by the most uneasy dreams; it was some seconds

before he recovered his self-command; and even after he had resumed a

recumbent attitude sleep continued to flee him, and he lay awake with

his brain in a state of violent agitation, and his eyes fixed upon

the lavatory door. He pulled his clerical felt hat over his brow

still further to shield him from the light; and he adopted the usual

expedients, such as counting a thousand or banishing thought, by

which experienced invalids are accustomed to woo the approach of

sleep. In the case of Mr. Rolles they proved one and all vain; he

was harassed by a dozen different anxieties--the old man in the other

end of the carriage haunted him in the most alarming shapes; and in

whatever attitude he chose to lie the diamond in his pocket

occasioned him a sensible physical distress. It burned, it was too

large, it bruised his ribs; and there were infinitesimal fractions of

a second in which he had half a mind to throw it from the window.

While he was thus lying, a strange incident took place.

The sliding-door into the lavatory stirred a little, and then a

little more, and was finally drawn back for the space of about twenty

inches. The lamp in the lavatory was unshaded, and in the lighted

aperture thus disclosed Mr. Rolles could see the head of Mr.

Vandeleur in an attitude of deep attention. He was conscious that

the gaze of the Dictator rested intently on his own face and the

instinct of self-preservation moved him to hold his breath, to

refrain from the least movement, and keeping his eyes lowered, to

watch his visitor from underneath the lashes. After about a moment

the head was withdrawn and the door of the lavatory replaced.

The Dictator had not come to attack, but to observe; his action was

not that of a man threatening another, but that of a man who was

himself threatened; if Mr. Rolles was afraid of him, it appeared that

he, in his turn, was not quite easy on the score of Mr. Rolles. He

had come, it would seem, to make sure that his only fellow-traveler

was asleep; and, when satisfied on that point, he had at once

withdrawn.

The clergyman leaped to his feet. The extreme of terror had given

place to a reaction of foolhardy daring. He reflected that the

rattle of the flying train concealed all other sounds, and

determined, come what might, to return the visit he had just

received. Divesting himself of his cloak, which might have

interfered with the freedom of his action, he entered the lavatory

and paused to listen. As he had expected, there was nothing to be

heard above the roar of the train's progress; and laying his hand on

the door at the further side, he proceeded cautiously to draw it back

for about six inches. Then he stopped, and could not contain an

ejaculation of surprise.

John Vandeleur wore a fur traveling cap with lappets to protect his

ears; and this may have combined with the sound of the express to

keep him in ignorance of what was going forward. It is certain, at

least, that he did not raise his head, but continued without

interruption to pursue his strange employment. Between his feet

stood an open hat-box; in one hand he held the sleeve of his sealskin

greatcoat; in the other a formidable knife, with which he had just

slit up the lining of the sleeve. Mr. Rolles had read of persons

carrying money in a belt; and as he had no acquaintance with any but

cricket-belts, he had never been able rightly to conceive how this

was managed. But here was a stranger thing before his eyes; for John

Vandeleur, it appeared, carried diamonds in the lining of his sleeve;

and even as the young clergyman gazed, he could see one glittering

brilliant drop after another into the hat-box.

He stood riveted to the spot, following this unusual business with

his eyes. The diamonds were, for the most part, small, and not

easily distinguishable either in shape or fire. Suddenly the

Dictator appeared to find a difficulty; he employed both hands and

stopped over his task; but it was not until after considerable

maneuvring that he extricated a large tiara of diamonds from the

lining, and held it up for some seconds' examination before he placed

it with the others in the hat-box. The tiara was a ray of light to

Mr. Rolles; he immediately recognized it for a part of the treasure

stolen from Harry Hartley by the loiterer. There was no room for

mistake; it was exactly as the detective had described it; there were

the ruby stars, with a great emerald in the centre; there were the

interlacing crescents; and there were the pear-shaped pendants, each

a single stone, which gave a special value to Lady Vandeleur's tiara.

Mr. Rolles was hugely relieved. The Dictator was as deeply in the

affair as he was; neither could tell tales upon the other. In the

first glow of happiness, the clergyman suffered a deep sigh to escape

him; and as his bosom had become choked and his throat dry during his

previous suspense, the sigh was followed by a cough.

Mr. Vandeleur looked up; his face contracted with the blackest and

most deadly passion; his eyes opened widely, and his under jaw

dropped in an astonishment that was upon the brink of fury. By an

instinctive movement he had covered the hat-box with the coat. For

half a minute the two men stared upon each other in silence. It was

not a long interval, but it sufficed for Mr. Rolles; he was one of

those who think swiftly on dangerous occasions; he decided on a

course of action of a singularly daring nature; and although he felt

he was setting his life upon the hazard, he was the first to break

silence.

"I beg your pardon," said he.

The Dictator shivered slightly, and when he spoke his voice was

hoarse.

"What do you want here?" he asked.

"I take a particular interest in diamonds," replied Mr. Rolles, with

an air of perfect self-possession. "Two connoisseurs should be

acquainted. I have here a trifle of my own which may perhaps serve

for an introduction."

And so saying, he quietly took the case from his pocket, showed the

Rajah's Diamond to the Dictator for an instant, and replaced it in

security.

"It was once your brother's," he added.

John Vandeleur continued to regard him with a look of almost painful

amazement; but he neither spoke nor moved.

"I was pleased to observe," resumed the young man, "that we have gems

from the same collection."

The Dictator's surprise overpowered him.

"I beg your pardon," he said; "I begin to perceive that I am growing

old! I am positively not prepared for little incidents like this.

But set my mind at rest upon one point: do my eyes deceive me, or are

you indeed a parson?"

"I am in holy orders," answered Mr. Rolles.

"Well," cried the other, "as long as I live I will never hear another

word against the cloth!"

"You flatter me," said Mr. Rolles.

"Pardon me," replied Vandeleur; "pardon me, young man. You are no

coward, but it still remains to be seen whether you are not the worst

of fools. Perhaps," he continued, leaning back upon his seat,

"perhaps you would oblige me with a few particulars. I must suppose

you had some object in the stupefying impudence of your proceedings,

and I confess I have a curiosity to know it."

"It is very simple," replied the clergyman; "it proceeds from my

great inexperience of life."

"I shall be glad to be persuaded," answered Vandeleur.

Whereupon Mr. Rolles told him the whole story of his connection with

the Rajah's Diamond, from the time he found it in Raeburn's garden to

the time when he left London in the Flying Scotchman. He added a

brief sketch of his feelings and thoughts during the journey, and

concluded in these words:

"When I recognized the tiara I knew we were in the same attitude

toward Society, and this inspired me with a hope, which I trust you

will say was not ill-founded, that you might become in some sense my

partner in the difficulties and, of course, the profits of my

situation. To one of your special knowledge and obviously great

experience the negotiation of the diamond would give but little

trouble, while to me it was a matter of impossibility. On the other

part, I judged that I might lose nearly as much by cutting the

diamond, and that not improbably with an unskilful hand, as might

enable me to pay you with proper generosity for your assistance. The

subject was a delicate one to broach; and perhaps I fell short in

delicacy. But I must ask you to remember that for me the situation

was a new one, and I was entirely unacquainted with the etiquette in

use. I believe without vanity that I could have married or baptized

you in a very acceptable manner; but every man has his own aptitudes,

and this sort of bargain was not among the list of my

accomplishments."

"I do not wish to flatter you," replied Vandeleur; "but, upon my

word, you have an unusual disposition for a life of crime. You have

more accomplishments than you imagine; and though I have encountered

a number of rogues in different quarters of the world, I never met

with one so unblushing as yourself. Cheer up, Mr. Rolles, you are in

the right profession at last! As for helping you, you may command me

as you will. I have only a day's business in Edinburgh on a little

matter for my brother; and once that is concluded, I return to Paris,

where I usually reside. If you please you may accompany me thither.

And before the end of a month I believe I shall have brought your

little business to a satisfactory conclusion."

[At this point, contrary to all the canons of his art, our Arabian

Author breaks off the "Story of the Young Man in Holy Orders." I

regret and condemn such practises; but I must follow my original, and

refer the reader for the conclusion of Mr. Rolles's adventures to the

next number of the cycle, the "Story of the House with the Green

Blinds."]

STORY OF THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN BLINDS

Francis Scrymgeour, a clerk in the Bank of Scotland at Edinburgh, had

attained the age of twenty-five in a sphere of quiet, creditable, and

domestic life. His mother died while he was young; but his father, a

man of sense and probity, had given him an excellent education at

school, and brought him up at home to orderly and frugal habits.

Francis, who was of a docile and affectionate disposition, profited

by these advantages with zeal, and devoted himself heart and soul to

his employment. A walk upon Saturday afternoon, an occasional dinner

with members of his family, and a yearly tour of a fortnight in the

Highlands or even on the continent of Europe, were his principal

distractions, and he grew rapidly in favor with his superiors, and

enjoyed already a salary of nearly two hundred pounds a year, with

the prospect of an ultimate advance to almost double that amount.

Few young men were more contented, few more willing and laborious,

than Francis Scrymgeour. Sometimes at night, when he had read the

daily paper, he would play upon the flute to amuse his father, for

whose qualities he entertained a great respect.

One day he received a note from a well-known firm of Writers to the

Signet, requesting the favor of an immediate interview with him. The

letter was marked "Private and Confidential," and had been addressed

to him at the bank, instead of at home--two unusual circumstances

which made him obey the summons with the more alacrity. The senior

member of the firm, a man of much austerity of manner, made him

gravely welcome, requested him to take a seat, and proceeded to

explain the matter in hand in the picked expressions of a veteran man

of business. A person, who must remain nameless, but of whom the

lawyer had every reason to think well--a man, in short, of some

station in the country--desired to make Francis an annual allowance

of five hundred pounds. The capital was to be placed under the

control of the lawyer's firm and two trustees who must also remain

anonymous. There were conditions annexed to this liberality, but he

was of opinion that his new client would find nothing either

excessive or dishonorable in the terms; and he repeated these two

words with emphasis, as though he desired to commit himself to

nothing more.

Francis asked their nature.

"The conditions," said the Writer to the Signet, "are, as I have

twice remarked, neither dishonorable nor excessive. At the same time

I can not conceal from you that they are most unusual. Indeed, the

whole case is very much out of our way; and I should certainly have

refused it had it not been for the reputation of the gentleman who

entrusted it to my care, and, let me add, Mr. Scrymgeour, the

interest I have been led to take in yourself by many complimentary

and, I have no doubt, well-deserved reports."

Francis entreated him to be more specific.

"You can not picture my uneasiness as to these conditions," he said.

"They are two," replied the lawyer, "only two; and the sum, as you

will remember, is five hundred a year--and unburdened, I forgot to

add, unburdened."

And the lawyer raised his eyebrows at him with solemn gusto.

"The first," he resumed, "is of remarkable simplicity. You must be

in Paris by the afternoon of Sunday, the 15th; there you will find,

at the box-office of the Comedie Française, a ticket for admission

taken in your name and waiting you. You are requested to sit out the

whole performance in the seat provided, and that is all."

"I should certainly have preferred a week-day," replied Francis.

"But, after all, once in a way--"

"And in Paris, my dear sir," added the lawyer, soothingly. "I

believe I am something of a precisian myself, but upon such a

consideration, and in Paris, I should not hesitate an instant."

And the pair laughed pleasantly together.

"The other is of more importance," continued the Writer to the

Signet. "It regards your marriage. My client, taking a deep

interest in your welfare, desires to advise you absolutely in the

choice of a wife. Absolutely, you understand," he repeated.

"Let us be more explicit, if you please," returned Francis. "Am I to

marry any one, maid or widow, black or white, whom this invisible

person chooses to propose?"

"I was to assure you that suitability of age and position should be a

principle with your benefactor," replied the lawyer. "As to race, I

confess the difficulty had not occurred to me, and I failed to

inquire; but if you like I will make a note of it at once, and advise

you on the earliest opportunity."

"Sir," said Francis, "it remains to be seen whether this whole affair

is not a most unworthy fraud. The circumstances are inexplicable--I

had almost said incredible; and until I see a little more daylight,

and some plausible motive, I confess I should be very sorry to put a

hand to the transaction. I appeal to you in this difficulty for

information. I must learn what is at the bottom of it all. If you

do not know, can not guess, or are not at liberty to tell me, I shall

take my hat and go back to my bank as I came."

"I do not know," answered the lawyer, "but I have an excellent guess.

Your father, and no one else, is at the root of this apparently

unnatural business."

"My father!" cried Francis, in extreme disdain. "Worthy man, I know

every thought of his mind, every penny of his fortune!"

"You misinterpret my words," said the lawyer. "I do not refer to Mr.

Scrymgeour, senior; for he is not your father. When he and his wife

came to Edinburgh, you were already nearly one year old, and you had

not yet been three months in their care. The secret has been well

kept; but such is the fact. Your father is unknown, and I say again

that I believe him to be the original of the offers I am charged at

present to transmit to you."

It would be impossible to exaggerate the astonishment of Francis

Scrymgeour at this unexpected information. He pleaded this confusion

to the lawyer.

"Sir," said he, "after a piece of news so startling, you must grant

me some hours for thought. You shall know this evening what

conclusion I have reached."

The lawyer commended his prudence; and Francis, excusing himself upon

some pretext at the bank, took a long walk into the country, and

fully considered the different steps and aspects of the case. A

pleasant sense of his own importance rendered him the more

deliberate: but the issue was from the first not doubtful. His whole

carnal man leaned irresistibly toward the five hundred a year, and

the strange conditions with which it was burdened; he discovered in

his heart an invincible repugnance to the name of Scrymgeour, which

he had never hitherto disliked; he began to despise the narrow and

unromantic interests of his former life; and when once his mind was

fairly made up, he walked with a new feeling of strength and freedom,

and nourished himself with the gayest anticipations.

He said but a word to the lawyer, and immediately received a check

for two quarters' arrears; for the allowance was antedated from the

first of January. With this in his pocket, he walked home. The flat

in Scotland Street looked mean in his eyes; his nostrils, for the

first time, rebelled against the odor of broth; and he observed

little defects of manner in his adoptive father which filled him with

surprise and almost with disgust. The next day, he determined,

should see him on his way to Paris.

In that city, where he arrived long before the appointed date, he put

up at a modest hotel frequented by English and Italians, and devoted

himself to improvement in the French tongue; for this purpose he had

a master twice a week, entered into conversation with loiterers in

the Champs Elysées, and nightly frequented the theatre. He had his

whole toilet fashionably renewed; and was shaved and had his hair

dressed every morning by a barber in a neighboring street. This gave

him something of a foreign air, and seemed to wipe off the reproach

of his past years.

At length, on the Saturday afternoon, he betook himself to the

box-office of the theatre in the Rue Richelieu. No sooner had he

mentioned his name than the clerk produced the order in an envelope

of which the address was scarcely dry.

"It has been taken this moment," said the clerk.

"Indeed!" said Francis. "May I ask what the gentleman was like?"

"Your friend is easy to describe," replied the official. "He is old

and strong and beautiful, with white hair and a sabre-cut across his

face. You can not fail to recognize so marked a person."

"No, indeed," returned Francis; "and I thank you for your politeness."

"He can not yet be far distant," added the clerk. "If you make haste

you might still overtake him."

Francis did not wait to be twice told; he ran precipitately from the

theatre into the middle of the street and looked in all directions.

More than one white-haired man was within sight; but though he

overtook each of them in succession, all wanted the sabre-cut. For

nearly half an hour he tried one street after another in the

neighborhood, until at length, recognizing the folly of continued

search, he started on a walk to compose his agitated feelings; for

this proximity of an encounter with him to whom he could not doubt he

owed the day had profoundly moved the young man.

It chanced that his way lay up the Rue Drouot and thence up the Rue

des Martyrs; and chance, in this case, served him better than all the

forethought in the world. For on the outer boulevard he saw two men

in earnest colloquy upon a seat. One was dark, young, and handsome,

secularly dressed, but with an indelible clerical stamp; the other

answered in every particular to the description given him by the

clerk. Francis felt his heart beat high in his bosom; he knew he was

now about to hear the voice of his father; and making a wide circuit,

he noiselessly took his place behind the couple in question, who were

too much interested in their talk to observe much else. As Francis

had expected, the conversation was conducted in the English language.

"Your suspicions begin to annoy me, Rolles," said the older man. "I

tell you I am doing my utmost; a man can not lay his hand on millions

in a moment. Have I not taken you up, a mere stranger, out of pure

goodwill? Are you not living largely on my bounty?"

"On your advances, Mr. Vandeleur," corrected the other.

"Advances, if you choose; and interest instead of good-will, if you

prefer it," returned Vandeleur, angrily. "I am not here to pick

expressions. Business is business; and your business, let me remind

you, is too muddy for such airs. Trust me, or leave me alone and

find some one else; but let us have an end, for God's sake, of your

jeremiads."

"I am beginning to learn the world," replied the other, "and I see

that you have every reason to play me false, and not one to deal

honestly. I am not here to pick expressions, either; you wish the

diamond for yourself; you know you do--you dare not deny it. Have

you not already forged my name, and searched my lodging in my

absence? I understand the cause of your delays; you are lying in

wait; you are the diamond-hunter, forsooth; and sooner or later, by

fair means or foul, you'll lay your hands upon it. I tell you, it

must stop; push me much further and I promise you a surprise."

"It does not become you to use threats," returned Vandeleur. "Two

can play at that. My brother is here in Paris; the police are on the

alert; and if you persist in wearying me with your caterwauling, I

will arrange a little astonishment for you, Mr. Rolles. But mine

shall be once and for all. Do you understand, or would you prefer me

to tell it you in Hebrew? There is an end to all things, and you

have come to the end of my patience. Tuesday, at seven; not a day,

not an hour sooner, not the least part of a second, if it were to

save your life. And if you do not choose to wait, you may go to the

bottomless pit for me, and welcome."

And so saying, the Dictator arose from the bench, and marched off in

the direction of Montmartre, shaking his head and swinging his cane

with a most furious air; while his companion remained where he was,

in an attitude of great dejection.

Francis was at the pitch of surprise and horror; his sentiments had

been shocked to the last degree; the hopeful tenderness with which he

had taken his place upon the bench was transformed into repulsion and

despair; old Mr. Scrymgeour, he reflected, was a far more kindly and

creditable parent than this dangerous and violent intriguer; but he

retained his presence of mind, and suffered not a moment to elapse

before he was on the trail of the Dictator.

That gentleman's fury carried him forward at a brisk pace, and he was

so completely occupied in his angry thoughts that he never so much as

cast a look behind him till he reached his own door.

His house stood high up in the Rue Lepic, commanding a view of all

Paris and enjoying the pure air of the heights. It was two stories

high, with green blinds and shutters; and all the windows looking on

the street were hermetically closed. Tops of trees showed over the

high garden wall, and the wall was protected by chevaux-de-frise.

The Dictator paused a moment while he searched his pocket for a key;

and then, opening a gate, disappeared within the enclosure.

Francis looked about him; the neighborhood was very lonely; the house

isolated in its garden. It seemed as if his observation must here

come to an abrupt end. A second glance, however, showed him a tall

house next door presenting a gable to the garden, and in this gable a

single window. He passed to the front and saw a ticket offering

unfurnished lodgings by the month; and, on inquiry, the room which

commanded the Dictator's garden proved to be one of those to let.

Francis did not hesitate a moment; he took the room, paid an advance

upon the rent, and returned to his hotel to seek his baggage.

The old man with the sabre-cut might or might not be his father; he

might or he might not be upon the true scent; but he was certainly on

the edge of an exciting mystery, and he promised himself that he

would not relax his observation until he had got to the bottom of the

secret.

From the window of his new apartment Francis Scrymgeour commanded a

complete view into the garden of the house with the green blinds.

Immediately below him a very comely chestnut with wide boughs

sheltered a pair of rustic tables where people might dine in the

height of summer. On all sides save one a dense vegetation concealed

the soil; but there, between the tables and the house, he saw a patch

of gravel walk leading from the veranda to the garden gate. Studying

the place from between the boards of the Venetian shutters, which he

durst not open for fear of attracting attention, Francis observed but

little to indicate the manners of the inhabitants, and that little

argued no more than a close reserve and a taste for solitude. The

garden was conventual, the house had the air of a prison. The green

blinds were all drawn down upon the outside; the door into the

veranda was closed; the garden, as far as he could see it, was left

entirely to itself in the evening sunshine. A modest curl of smoke

from a single chimney alone testified to the presence of living

people.

In order that he might not be entirely idle, and to give a certain

color to his way of life, Francis had purchased Euclid's Geometry in

French, which he set himself to copy and translate on the top of his

portmanteau and seated on the floor against the wall; for he was

equally without chair or table. From time to time he would rise and

cast a glance into the enclosure of the house with the green blinds;

but the windows remained obstinately closed and the garden empty.

Only late in the evening did anything occur to reward his continued

attention. Between nine and ten the sharp tinkle of a bell aroused

him from a fit of dozing; and he sprang to his observatory in time to

hear an important noise of locks being opened and bars removed, and

to see Mr. Vandeleur, carrying a lantern and clothed in a flowing

robe of black velvet with a skull-cap to match, issue from under the

veranda and proceed leisurely toward the garden gate. The sound of

bolts and bars was then repeated; and a moment after Francis

perceived the Dictator escorting into the house, in the mobile light

of the lantern, an individual of the lowest and most despicable

appearance.

Half an hour afterward the visitor was reconducted to the street; and

Mr. Vandeleur, setting his light upon one of the rustic tables,

finished a cigar with great deliberation under the foliage of the

chestnut. Francis, peering through a clear space among the leaves,

was able to follow his gestures as he threw away the ash or enjoyed a

copious inhalation; and beheld a cloud upon the old man's brow and a

forcible action of the lips which testified to some deep and probably

painful train of thought. The cigar was already almost at an end,

when the voice of a young girl was heard suddenly crying the hour

from the interior of the house.

"In a moment," replied John Vandeleur.

And, with that, he threw away the stump and, taking up the lantern,

sailed away under the veranda for the night. As soon as the door was

closed, absolute darkness fell upon the house. Francis might try his

eyesight as much as he pleased, he could not detect so much as a

single chink of light below a blind; and he concluded, with great

good sense, that the bedchambers were all upon the other side.

Early the next morning (for he was early awake after an uncomfortable

night upon the floor), he saw cause to adopt a different explanation.

The blinds rose, one after another, by means of a spring in the

interior, and disclosed steel shutters such as we see on the front of

shops; these in their turn were rolled up by a similar contrivance;

and, for the space of about an hour, the chambers were left open to

the morning air. At the end of that time Mr. Vandeleur, with his own

hand, once more closed the shutters and replaced the blinds from

within.

While Francis was still marveling at these precautions, the door

opened and a young girl came forth to look about her in the garden.

It was not two minutes before she reentered the house, but even in

that short time he saw enough to convince him that she possessed the

most unusual attractions. His curiosity was not only highly excited

by this incident, but his spirits were improved to a still more

notable degree. The alarming manners and more than equivocal life of

his father ceased from that moment to prey upon his mind; from that

moment he embraced his new family with ardor; and whether the young

lady should prove his sister or his wife, he felt convinced she was

an angel in disguise. So much was this the case that he was seized

with a sudden horror when he reflected how little he really knew, and

how possible it was that he had followed the wrong person when he

followed Mr. Vandeleur.

The porter, whom he consulted, could afford him little information;

but, such as it was, it had a mysterious and questionable sound. The

person next door was an English gentleman of extraordinary wealth,

and proportionately eccentric in his tastes and habits. He possessed

great collections, which he kept in the house beside him; and it was

to protect these that he had fitted the place with steel shutters,

elaborate fastenings, and chevaux-de-frise along the garden wall. He

lived much alone, in spite of some strange visitors with whom, it

seemed, he had business to transact; and there was no one else in the

house, except Mademoiselle and an old woman servant.

"Is Mademoiselle his daughter?" inquired Francis.

"Certainly," replied the porter. "Mademoiselle is the daughter of

the house; and strange it is to see how she is made to work. For all

his riches, it is she who goes to market; and every day in the week

you may see her going by with a basket on her arm."

"And the collections?" asked the other.

"Sir," said the man, "they are immensely valuable. More I can not

tell you. Since M. de Vandeleur's arrival no one in the quarter has

so much as passed the door."

"Suppose not," returned Francis, "you must surely have some notion

what these famous galleries contain. Is it pictures, silks, statues,

jewels, or what?"

"My faith, sir," said the fellow with a shrug, "it might be carrots,

and still I could not tell you. How should I know? The house is

kept like a garrison, as you perceive."

And then as Francis was returning disappointed to his room, the

porter called him back.

"I have just remembered, sir," said he. "M. de Vandeleur has been in

all parts of the world, and I once heard the old woman declare that

he had brought many diamonds back with him. If that be the truth,

there must be a fine show behind those shutters."

By an early hour on Sunday Francis was in his place at the theatre.

The seat which had been taken for him was only two or three numbers

from the left-hand side, and directly opposite one of the lower

boxes. As the seat had been specially chosen there was doubtless

something to be learned from its position; and he judged by an

instinct that the box upon his right was, in some way or other, to be

connected with the drama in which he ignorantly played a part.

Indeed it was so situated that its occupants could safely observe him

from beginning to end of the piece, if they were so minded; while,

profiting by the depth, they could screen themselves sufficiently

well from any counter-examination on his side. He promised himself

not to leave it for a moment out of sight; and while he scanned the

rest of the theatre, or made a show of attending to the business of

the stage, he always kept a corner of an eye upon the empty box.

The second act had been some time in progress, and was even drawing

toward a close, when the door opened and two persons entered and

ensconced themselves in the darkest of the shade. Francis could

hardly control his emotion. It was Mr. Vandeleur and his daughter.

The blood came and went in his arteries and veins with stunning

activity; his ears sang; his head turned. He dared not look lest he

should awake suspicion; his play-bill, which he kept reading from end

to end and over and over again, turned from white to red before his

eyes; and when he cast a glance upon the stage, it seemed

incalculably far away, and he found the voices and gestures of the

actors to the last degree impertinent and absurd.

From time to time he risked a momentary look in the direction which

principally interested him; and once at least he felt certain that

his eyes encountered those of the young girl. A shock passed over

his body, and he saw all the colors of the rainbow. What would he

not have given to overhear what passed between the Vandeleurs? What

would he not have given for the courage to take up his opera-glass

and steadily inspect their attitude and expression? There, for aught

he knew, his whole life was being decided--and he not able to

interfere, not able even to follow the debate, but condemned to sit

and suffer where he was, in impotent anxiety.

At last the act came to an end. The curtain fell, and the people

around him began to leave their places for the interval. It was only

natural that he should follow their example; and if he did so, it was

not only natural but necessary that he should pass immediately in

front of the box in question. Summoning all his courage, but keeping

his eyes lowered, Francis drew near the spot. His progress was slow,

for the old gentleman before him moved with incredible deliberation,

wheezing as he went. What was he to do? Should he address the

Vandeleurs by name as he went by? Should he take the flower from his

buttonhole and throw it into the box? Should he raise his face and

direct one long and affectionate look upon the lady who was either

his sister or his betrothed? As he found himself thus struggling

among so many alternatives, he had a vision of his old equable

existence in the bank, and was assailed by a thought of regret for

the past.

By this time he had arrived directly opposite the box; and although

he was still undetermined what to do or whether to do anything, he

turned his head and lifted his eyes. No sooner had he done so than

he uttered a cry of disappointment and remained rooted to the spot.

The box was empty. During his slow advance Mr. Vandeleur and his

daughter had quietly slipped away.

A polite person in his rear reminded him that he was stopping the

path; and he moved on again with mechanical footsteps, and suffered

the crowd to carry him unresisting out of the theatre. Once in the

street, the pressure ceasing, he came to a halt, and the cool night

air speedily restored him to the possession of his faculties. He was

surprised to find that his head ached violently, and that he

remembered not one word of the two acts which he had witnessed. As

the excitement wore away, it was succeeded by an over-weening

appetite for sleep, and he hailed a cab and drove to his lodging in a

state of extreme exhaustion and some disgust of life.

Next morning he lay in wait for Miss Vandeleur on her road to market,

and by eight o'clock beheld her stepping down a lane. She was

simply, and even poorly, attired; but in the carriage of her head and

body there was something flexible and noble that would have lent

distinction to the meanest toilet. Even her basket, so aptly did she

carry it, became her like an ornament. It seemed to Francis, as he

slipped into a doorway, that the sunshine followed and the shadows

fled before her as she walked; and he was conscious, for the first

time, of a bird singing in a cage above the lane.

He suffered her to pass the doorway, and then, coming forth once

more, addressed her by name from behind.

"Miss Vandeleur," said he.

She turned, and, when she saw who he was, became deadly pale.

"Pardon me," he continued; "Heaven knows I had no will to startle

you; and, indeed, there should be nothing startling in the presence

of one who wishes you so well as I do. And, believe me, I am acting

rather from necessity than choice. We have many things in common,

and I am sadly in the dark. There is much that I should be doing,

and my hands are tied. I do not know even what to feel, nor who are

my friends and enemies."

She found her voice with an effort.

"I do not know who you are," she said.

"Ah, yes! Miss Vandeleur, you do," returned Francis; "better than I

do myself. Indeed it is on that, above all, that I seek light. Tell

me what you know," he pleaded. "Tell me who I am, who you are, and

how our destinies are intermixed. Give me a little help with my

life, Miss Vandeleur--only a word or two to guide me, only the name

of my father, if you will--and I shall be grateful and content."

"I will not attempt to deceive you," she replied. "I know who you

are, but I am not at liberty to say."

"Tell me, at least, that you have forgiven my presumption, and I

shall wait with all the patience I have," he said. "If I am not to

know, I must do without. It is cruel, but I can bear more upon a

push. Only do not add to my troubles the thought that I have made an

enemy of you."

"You did only what was natural," she said, "and I have nothing to

forgive you. Farewell."

"Is it to be _farewell_?" he asked.

"Nay, that I do not know myself," she answered. "Farewell for the

present, if you like."

And with these words she was gone.

Francis returned to his lodging in a state of considerable commotion

of mind. He made the most trifling progress with his Euclid for that

forenoon, and was more often at the window than at his improvised

writing-table. But beyond seeing the return of Miss Vandeleur, and

the meeting between her and her father, who was smoking a

Trichinopoli cigar in the veranda, there was nothing notable in the

neighborhood of the house with the green blinds before the time of

the midday meal. The young man hastily allayed his appetite in a

neighboring restaurant, and returned with the speed of unallayed

curiosity to the house in the Rue Lepic. A mounted servant was

leading a saddle-horse to and fro before the garden wall; and the

porter of Francis's lodging was smoking a pipe against the door-post,

absorbed in contemplation of the livery and the steeds.

"Look!" he cried to the young man, "what fine cattle! what an elegant

costume! They belong to the brother of M. de Vandeleur, who is now

within upon a visit. He is a great man, a general, in your country;

and you doubtless know him well by reputation."

"I confess," returned Francis, "that I have never heard of General

Vandeleur before. We have many officers of that grade, and my

pursuits have been exclusively civil."

"It is he," replied the porter, "who lost the great diamond of the

Indies. Of that at least you must have read often in the papers."

As soon as Francis could disengage himself from the porter he ran

upstairs and hurried to the window. Immediately below the clear

space in the chestnut leaves, the two gentlemen were seated in

conversation over a cigar. The General, a red, military-looking man,

offered some traces of a family resemblance to his brother; he had

something of the same features, something, although very little, of

the same free and powerful carriage; but he was older, smaller, and

more common in air; his likeness was that of a caricature, and he

seemed altogether a poor and debile being by the side of the Dictator.

They spoke in tones so low, leaning over the table with every

appearance of interest, that Francis could catch no more than a word

or two on an occasion. For as little as he heard, he was convinced

that the conversation turned upon himself and his own career; several

times the name of Scrymgeour reached his ear, for it was easy to

distinguish, and still more frequently he fancied he could

distinguish the name Francis.

At length the General, as if in a hot anger, broke forth into several

violent exclamations.

"Francis Vandeleur!" he cried, accentuating the last word. "Francis

Vandeleur, I tell you."

The Dictator made a movement of his whole body, half affirmative,

half contemptuous, but his answer was inaudible to the young man.

Was he the Francis Vandeleur in question? he wondered. Were they

discussing the name under which he was to be married? Or was the

whole affair a dream and a delusion of his own conceit and

self-absorption?

After another interval of inaudible talk, dissension seemed again to

arise between the couple underneath the chestnut, and again the

General raised his voice angrily so as to be audible to Francis.

"My wife?" he cried. "I have done with my wife for good. I will not

hear her name. I am sick of her very name."

And he swore aloud and beat the table with his fist.

The Dictator appeared, by his gestures, to pacify him after a

paternal fashion; and a little after he conducted him to the garden

gate. The pair shook hands affectionately enough; but as soon as the

door had closed behind his visitor, John Vandeleur fell into a fit of

laughter which sounded unkindly and even devilish in the ears of

Francis Scrymgeour.

So another day had passed, and little more learned. But the young

man remembered that the morrow was Tuesday, and promised himself some

curious discoveries; all might be well, or all might be ill; he was

sure, at least, to glean some curious information, and, perhaps, by

good luck, get at the heart of the mystery which surrounded his

father and his family.

As the hour of the dinner drew near many preparations were made in

the garden of the house with the green blinds. That table which was

partly visible to Francis through the chestnut leaves was destined to

serve as a sideboard, and carried relays of plates and the materials

for salad; the other, which was almost entirely concealed, had been

set apart for the diners, and Francis could catch glimpses of white

cloth and silver plate.

Mr. Rolles arrived, punctual to the minute; he looked like a man upon

his guard, and spoke low and sparingly. The Dictator, on the other

hand, appeared to enjoy an unusual flow of spirits; his laugh, which

was youthful and pleasant to hear, sounded frequently from the

garden; by the modulation and the changes of his voice it was obvious

that he told many droll stories and imitated the accents of a variety

of different nations; and before he and the young clergyman had

finished their vermuth all feeling of distrust was at an end, and

they were talking together like a pair of school companions.

At length Miss Vandeleur made her appearance, carrying the

soup-tureen. Mr. Rolles ran to offer her assistance which she

laughingly refused; and there was an interchange of pleasantries

among the trio which seemed to have reference to this primitive

manner of waiting by one of the company.

"One is more at one's ease," Mr. Vandeleur was heard to declare.

Next moment they were all three in their places, and Francis could

see as little as he could hear of what passed. But the dinner seemed

to go merrily; there was a perpetual babble of voices and sound of

knives and forks below the chestnut; and Francis, who had no more

than a roll to gnaw, was affected with envy by the comfort and

deliberation of the meal. The party lingered over one dish after

another, and then over a delicate dessert, with a bottle of old wine

carefully uncorked by the hand of the Dictator himself. As it began

to grow dark a lamp was set upon the table and a couple of candles on

the sideboard; for the night was perfectly pure, starry, and

windless. Light overflowed besides from the door and window in the

veranda, so that the garden was fairly illuminated and the leaves

twinkled in the darkness.

For perhaps the tenth time Miss Vandeleur entered the house; and on

this occasion she returned with the coffee-tray, which she placed

upon the sideboard. At the same moment her father rose from his seat.

"The coffee is my province," Francis heard him say.

And next moment he saw his supposed father standing by the sideboard

in the light of the candles.

Talking over his shoulder all the while, Mr. Vandeleur poured out two

cups of the brown stimulant, and then, by a rapid act of

prestidigitation, emptied the contents of a tiny phial into the

smaller of the two. The thing was so swiftly done that even Francis,

who looked straight into his face, had hardly time to perceive the

movement before it was completed. And next instant, and still

laughing, Mr. Vandeleur had turned again toward the table with a cup

in either hand.

"Ere we have done with this," said he, "we may expect our famous

Hebrew."

It would be impossible to depict the confusion and distress of

Francis Scrymgeour. He saw foul play going forward before his eyes,

and he felt bound to interfere, but knew not how. It might be a mere

pleasantry, and then how should he look if he were to offer an

unnecessary warning? Or again, if it were serious, the criminal

might be his own father, and then how should he not lament if he were

to bring ruin on the author of his days? For the first time he

became conscious of his own position as a spy. To wait inactive at

such a juncture and with such a conflict of sentiments in his bosom

was to suffer the most acute torture; he clung to the bars of the

shutters, his heart beat fast and with irregularity, and he felt a

strong sweat break forth upon his body.

Several minutes passed.

He seemed to perceive the conversation die away and grow less and

less in vivacity and volume; but still no sign of any alarming or

even notable event.

Suddenly the ring of a glass breaking was followed by a faint and

dull sound, as of a person who should have fallen forward with his

head upon the table. At the same moment a piercing scream rose from

the garden.

"What have you done?" cried Miss Vandeleur. "He is dead!"

The Dictator replied in a violent whisper, so strong and sibilant

that every word was audible to the watcher at the window.

"Silence!" said Mr. Vandeleur; "the man is as well as I am. Take him

by the heels while I carry him by the shoulders."

Francis heard Miss Vandeleur break forth into a passion of tears.

"Do you hear what I say?" resumed the Dictator, in the same tones.

"Or do you wish to quarrel with me? I give you your choice, Miss

Vandeleur."

There was another pause, and the Dictator spoke again.

"Take that man by the heels," he said. "I must have him brought into

the house. If I were a little younger, I could help myself against

the world. But now that years and dangers are upon me and my hands

are weakened, I must turn to you for aid."

"It is a crime," replied the girl.

"I am your father," said Mr. Vandeleur.

This appeal seemed to produce its effect. A scuffling noise followed

upon the gravel, a chair was overset, and then Francis saw the father

and daughter stagger across the walk and disappear under the veranda,

bearing the inanimate body of Mr. Rolles embraced about the knees and

shoulders. The young clergyman was limp and pallid, and his head

rolled upon his shoulders at every step.

Was he alive or dead? Francis, in spite of the Dictator's

declaration, inclined to the latter view. A great crime had been

committed; a great calamity had fallen upon the inhabitants of the

house with the green blinds. To his surprise, Francis found all

horror for the deed swallowed up in sorrow for a girl and an old man

whom he judged to be in the height of peril. A tide of generous

feeling swept into his heart; he, too, would help his father against

man and mankind, against fate and justice; and casting open the

shutters he closed his eyes and threw himself with outstretched arms

into the foliage of the chestnut.

Branch after branch slipped from his grasp or broke under his weight;

then he caught a stalwart bough under his armpit, and hung suspended

for a second; and then he let himself drop and fell heavily against

the table. A cry of alarm from the house warned him that his

entrance had not been effected unobserved. He recovered himself with

a stagger, and in three bounds crossed the intervening space and

stood before the door in the veranda.

In a small apartment, carpeted with matting and surrounded by glazed

cabinets full of rare and costly curios, Mr. Vandeleur was stooping

over the body of Mr. Rolles. He raised himself as Francis entered,

and there was an instantaneous passage of hands. It was the business

of a second; as fast as an eye can wink the thing was done; the young

man had not the time to be sure, but it seemed to him as if the

Dictator had taken something from the curate's breast, looked at it

for the least fraction of time as it lay in his hand, and then

suddenly and swiftly passed it to his daughter.

All this was over while Francis had still one foot upon the

threshold, and the other raised in air. The next instant he was on

his knees to Mr. Vandeleur.

"Father!" he cried. "Let me too help you. I will do what you wish

and ask no questions; I will obey you with my life; treat me as a

son, and you will find I have a son's demotion."

A deplorable explosion of oaths was the Dictator's first reply.

"Son and father?" he cried. "Father and son? What d----d unnatural

comedy is all this? How do you come in my garden? What do you want?

And who, in God's name, are you?"

Francis, with a stunned and shamefaced aspect, got upon his feet

again, and stood in silence.

Then a light seemed to break upon Mr. Vandeleur, and he laughed aloud.

"I see," cried he. "It is the Scrymgeour. Very well, Mr.

Scrymgeour. Let me tell you in a few words how you stand. You have

entered my private residence by force, or perhaps by fraud, but

certainly with no encouragement from me; and you come at a moment of

some annoyance, a guest having fainted at my table, to besiege me

with your protestations. You are no son of mine. You are my

brother's bastard by a fishwife, if you want to know. I regard you

with an indifference closely bordering on aversion; and from what I

now see of your conduct, I judge your mind to be exactly suitable to

your exterior. I recommend you these mortifying reflections for your

leisure; and, in the meantime, let me beseech you to rid us of your

presence. If I were not occupied," added the Dictator, with a

terrifying oath, "I should give you the unholiest drubbing ere you

went!"

Francis listened in profound humiliation. He would have fled had it

been possible; but as he had no means of leaving the residence into

which he had so unfortunately penetrated, he could do no more than

stand foolishly where he was.

It was Miss Vandeleur who broke the silence.

"Father," she said, "you speak in anger. Mr. Scrymgeour may have

been mistaken, but he meant well and kindly."

"Thank you for speaking," returned the Dictator. "You remind me of

some other observations which I hold it a point of honor to make to

Mr. Scrymgeour. My brother," he continued, addressing the young man,

"has been foolish enough to give you an allowance; he was foolish

enough and presumptuous enough to propose a match between you and

this young lady. You were exhibited to her two nights ago; and I

rejoice to tell you that she rejected the idea with disgust. Let me

add that I have considerable influence with your father; and it shall

not be my fault if you are not beggared of your allowance and sent

back to your scrivening ere the week be out."

The tones of the old man's voice were, if possible, more wounding

than his language; Francis felt himself exposed to the most cruel,

blighting, and unbearable contempt; his head turned, and he covered

his face with his hands, uttering at the same time a tearless sob of

agony. But Miss Vandeleur once again interfered in his behalf.

"Mr. Scrymgeour," she said, speaking in clear and even tones, "you

must not be concerned at my father's harsh expressions. I felt no

disgust for you; on the contrary, I asked an opportunity to make your

better acquaintance. As for what has passed to-night, believe me, it

has filled my mind with both pity and esteem."

Just then Mr. Rolles made a convulsive movement with his arm, which

convinced Francis that he was only drugged, and was beginning to

throw off the influence of the opiate. Mr. Vandeleur stooped over

him and examined his face for an instant.

"Come, come!" cried he, raising his head. "Let there be an end of

this. And since you are so pleased with his conduct, Miss Vandeleur,

take a candle and show the bastard out."

The young lady hastened to obey.

"Thank you," said Francis, as soon as he was alone with her in the

garden. "I thank you from my soul. This has been the bitterest

evening of my life, but it will have always one pleasant

recollection."

"I spoke as I felt," she replied, "and in justice to you. It made my

heart sorry that you should be so unkindly used."

By this time they had reached the garden gate; and Miss Vandeleur,

having set the candle on the ground, was already unfastening the

bolts.

"One word more," said Francis. "This is not for the last time--I

shall see you again, shall I not?"

"Alas!" she answered. "You have heard my father. What can I do but

obey?"

"Tell me at least that it is not with your consent," returned

Francis; "tell me that you have no wish to see the last of me."

"Indeed," replied she, "I have none. You seem to me both brave and

honest."

"Then," said Francis, "give me a keepsake."

She paused for a moment, with her hand upon the key; for the various

bars and bolts were all undone, and there was nothing left but to

open the lock.

"If I agree," she said, "will you promise to do as I tell you from

point to point?"

"Can you ask?" replied Francis. "I would do so willingly on your

bare word."

She turned the key and threw open the door.

"Be it so," said she. "You do not know what you ask, but be it so.

Whatever you hear," she continued, "whatever happens, do not return

to this house; hurry fast until you reach the lighted and populous

quarters of the city; even there be upon your guard. You are in a

greater danger than you fancy. Promise me you will not so much as

look at my keepsake until you are in a place of safety."

"I promise," replied Francis.

She put something loosely wrapped in a handkerchief into the young

man's hand; and at the same time, with more strength than he could

have anticipated, she pushed him into the street.

"Now, run!" she cried.

He heard the door close behind him, and the noise of the bolts being

replaced.

"My faith," said he, "since I have promised!"

And he took to his heels down the lane that leads into the Rue

Ravignan.

He was not fifty paces from the house with the green blinds when the

most diabolical outcry suddenly arose out of the stillness of the

night. Mechanically he stood still; another passenger followed his

example; in the neighboring floors he saw people crowding to the

windows; a conflagration could not have produced more disturbance in

this empty quarter. And yet it seemed to be all the work of a single

man, roaring between grief and rage, like a lioness robbed of her

whelps; and Francis was surprised and alarmed to hear his own name

shouted with English imprecations to the wind.

His first movement was to return to the house; his second, as he

remembered Miss Vandeleur's advice, to continue his flight with

greater expedition than before; and he was in the act of turning to

put his thought in action, when the Dictator, bare-headed, bawling

aloud, his white hair blowing about his head, shot past him like a

ball out of the cannon's mouth, and went careering down the street.

"That was a close shave," thought Francis to himself. "What he wants

with me, and why he should be so disturbed, I can not think; but he

is plainly not good company for the moment, and I can not do better

than follow Miss Vandeleur's advice."

So saying, he turned to retrace his steps, thinking to double and

descend by the Rue Lepic itself while his pursuer should continue to

follow after him on the other line of street. The plan was

ill-devised: as a matter of fact, he should have taken his seat in

the nearest café, and waited there until the first heat of the

pursuit was over. But besides that Francis had no experience and

little natural aptitude for the small war of private life, he was so

unconscious of any evil on his part, that he saw nothing to fear

beyond a disagreeable interview. And to disagreeable interviews he

felt he had already served his apprenticeship that evening; nor could

he suppose that Miss Vandeleur had left anything unsaid. Indeed, the

young man was sore both in body and mind--the one was all bruised,

the other was full of smarting arrows; and he owned to himself that

Mr. Vandeleur was master of a very deadly tongue.

The thought of his bruises reminded him that he had not only come

without a hat, but that his clothes had considerably suffered in his

descent through the chestnut. At the first magazine he purchased a

cheap wideawake, and had the disorder of his toilet summarily

repaired. The keepsake, still rolled in the handkerchief, he thrust

in the meanwhile into his trousers pocket.

Not many steps beyond the shop he was conscious of a sudden shock, a

hand upon his throat, an infuriated face close to his own, and an

open mouth bawling curses in his ear. The Dictator, having found no

trace of his quarry, was returning by the other way. Francis was a

stalwart young fellow, but he was no match for his adversary whether

in strength or skill; and after a few ineffectual struggles he

resigned himself entirely to his captor.

"What do you want with me?" said he.

"We will talk of that at home," returned the Dictator, grimly.

And he continued to march the young man up hill in the direction of

the house with the green blinds.

But Francis, although he no longer struggled, was only waiting an

opportunity to make a bold push for freedom. With a sudden jerk he

left the collar of his coat in the hands of Mr. Vandeleur, and once

more made off at his best speed in the direction of the Boulevards.

The tables were now turned. If the Dictator was the stronger,

Francis, in the top of his youth, was the more fleet of foot, and he

had soon effected his escape among the crowds. Relieved for a

moment, but with a growing sentiment of alarm and wonder in his mind,

he walked briskly until he debouched upon the Place de l'Opera, lit

up like day with electric lamps.

"This, at least," thought he, "should satisfy Miss Vandeleur."

And turning to his right along the Boulevards, he entered the Café

Americain and ordered some beer. It was both late and early for the

majority of the frequenters of the establishment. Only two or three

persons, all men, were dotted here and there at separate tables in

the hall; and Francis was too much occupied by his own thoughts to

observe their presence.

He drew the handkerchief from his pocket. The object wrapped in it

proved to be a morocco case, clasped and ornamented in gilt, which

opened by means of a spring, and disclosed to the horrified young man

a diamond of monstrous bigness and extraordinary brilliancy. The

circumstance was so inexplicable, the value of the stone was plainly

so enormous, that Francis sat staring into the open casket without

movement, without conscious thought, like a man stricken suddenly

with idiocy.

A hand was laid upon his shoulder, lightly but firmly, and a quiet

voice, which yet had in it the ring of command, uttered these words

in his ear:

"Close the casket, and compose your face."

Looking up, he beheld a man, still young, of an urbane and tranquil

presence, and dressed with rich simplicity. This personage had risen

from a neighboring table, and, bringing his glass with him, had taken

a seat beside Francis.