left it open when he went in for the latch-
key. He had often seen the hanaper, and
as often coveted it, and thought how much
he could make of it; for among his acquaintances
was a ' fence' "— (he had
the grace to explain the word further
on)—"and who was perfectly safe. He
saw the oaken case; noiselessly unslid the
clasp; and in a quarter of an hour after
he left the house, the rich City merchant's
presentation plate was seething in the
smelting pot. He had timed his going
out to accord just with Ashley's return—
that he might show himself at the door of
the room unconcerned and ignorant of the
trouble there was within it; and while they
were all too much dazed with their loss to
know very clearly what was best to be done.
No suspicion had ever fallen on him, though
his rooms had been searched, as those of
the other inmates of the house; and he had
gone on living in his garret with honour
and punctual payments until now. And
now he wished to pay his last debt; when
he could die in peace, and with an easy
conscience." Easy conscience, the rogue!
—and yet, who is to limit the mercy of the
Infinite! God forgive us all, sinners that
we are!

THE DEATH'S HEAD MOTH.

I. THE PALACE DINNER.

THE court of the Grand Duke of Eisenherz
was dining, and dining moodily. It had been
said by the cynics of the Grand Duke's capital
that the only pleasant hour spent by the
miserable court was the dinner hour; yet on
this particular occasion even that hour was
not very agreeable. The sickly little duke,
a voluptuary, a fop, and a fool, as heartless
as he was brainless, was testy, snappish, fretful,
and splenetic, and in the most vexatious of
tempers, complaining of the wine, swearing
terrible oaths at his servants, kicking his pet
spaniels, snubbing the Lord Chamberlain,
almost barking at the minister of war, old iron-
necked General Blossow, contradicting the
Countess Schwellenberg, the lady of the robes,
and refusing even to look in the direction of
that old painted hag his stepmother, the
duchess, who, reddening behind the thick coats
of white and of red vermilion that choked up
her wrinkles, was in as viperish a temper as
could rise from the depths of a proud and evil
heart, corrupted by all the petty ambitions of
a small and depraved court in that demoralised
age that immediately preceded the red deluge
of the great revolution.

It was an October twilight, the few pale
gleams of day lingered on the glasses, jugs,
fruit dishes, and silver that strewed the
vast table. Here and there the blade of a
fruit knife, or the stopper of a decanter,
glanced out of the gloom which elsewhere
had risen slowly like a black flood, and submerged
the German Pharaohling and all his
host. The duke's face, pale, jaded, and fretful,
could be dimly seen by the light of his powdered
hair, but the duchess, who sat gaunt and erect,
with her back to a central window, appeared
a mere shapeless mass of darkness.

In all that concourse there were only two
persons really natural and at their ease, and
even these two were unhappy—more unhappy,
indeed, than their fellows. The one was a
beautiful young girl, who sat on the right hand
of the duchess. Her tender face, irradiated
with clusters of sunshiny hair, was spiritualised
by a fine intelligence, and dignified by a certain
calm power that gave almost a queenly character
to a beauty otherwise specially gentle,
loving, and womanly. She seemed unable and
unwilling to conceal a certain foreboding of
coming rank; but pride in that gentle heart
was no evil passion. In that pure soil the
poison plant had lost its venom, and glowed
only with amaranthine flowers. The sceptre
she would sway, those who loved her said,
would be rather a branch of lilies than the
hated sword.

The other was a pale intellectual-looking
young man, dressed in a plain austere black
velvet suit, reflecting light only from the
cut steel buttons which glistened here and
there in the last glimmer of day. Professor
Mohrart was the court physician, an honour
acquired by him at an early age, rather by
dint of his acknowledged learning than any
special regard borne him by either the dowager
duchess or the duke, whom he disdained to
flatter, and whose patronage of alchemy and
astrology he strongly condemned. He spoke but
little, and seemed lost in contemplation, except
when now and then his large dark eyes fell with
a mournful and tender regard on Mademoiselle
Blossow, the daughter of the minister of war,
and the duke's betrothed. There was indeed a
rumour in Eisenherz that a few years before he
had been attached to Mademoiselle Blossow,
but that the stern old general, from ambitious
motives, had refused him her hand. This
dream was no doubt long past. He had about
him now the preoccupied air of the student,
and he seemed out of place among those
heartless courtiers and self-conscious ladies of
honour.

"We start then to-morrow, Frederick, to
Schwarzstein," said the duchess, suddenly, in
her shrill voice. " The coaches must be ready
by three, to reach Graffenberg by dusk."

"My honoured and revered stepmother,"
said the young duke, with listless spitefuluess,
"you are only too good and kind in arranging
the movements of our court. Since we last
spoke to you we have changed our mind. I
and the general take Beatrice with us to-
morrow hunting in the forest at Eichenwald.
That exercise will be too fatiguing for you, we
fear. The chamberlain can go with you to
your worthy cousin at Schwarzstein."