pretty red fingers.

talk to him a bit."

"Joe 'ud make ten of him. I wish Joe'd

The end came soon after this, and, in spite of our attitude (I speak of us four, not of Smugg) of whole-heartedness, I think it was rather a shock to us all when Joe announced one morning, on his arrival with the chops, that he was to be made a happy man at the church next day. Smugg was not in the room, and the rest of us congratulated Joe, and made up a purse for him to give Pyrrha, with our best respects, and he bowed himself out, mighty pleased, and asseverating that we were real gentlemen. Then we sat and looked at the table.

"It robs us of a resource," pronounced Gayford, once again making himself the mouth-piece of the party. nodded, and filled fresh pipes.

We all

Presently Smugg sidled in. We had seen little of him the last week, save when he was construing he had taken refuge in his own room. When he came in now, Gayford wagged his head significantly at me; apparently it was my task to bell the cat. I rose, and went to the mantelpiece. Smugg had sat down at the table, and my back was to him. I took a match from the box, struck it, and applied it to my pipe, and, punctuating my words with interspersed puffings, I said, carelessly:

"By the way, Smugg, Pyrrha's going to be married to Joe Shanks to-morrow.

I don't know how he looked. I kept my face from him, but, after a long minute's pause, he answered:

"Thank you, Robertson. It's schylus this morning, isn't it?"

We had a noisy evening that night. I suppose we felt below par, and wanted cheering up. Anyhow, we made an expedition to the grocer's, and amazed him with a demand for his best champagne and his choicest sherry. We carried the goods home in a bag, and sat down to a revel. Smugg had some bread and cheese in his own room; he said that he had letters to write. We dined largely, and drank still more largely; then we sang, and at last-it was near on twelve, a terrible hour for that neighborhood-we made our way, amid much boisterousness and horse-play, to bed; where I, at least, was asleep in five minutes.

As the church clock struck two, I awoke. I heard a

sound of movement in Smugg's room next door. I lay and listened. Presently his door opened, and he creaked gently downstairs. I sprang out of bed and looked out of the window. Smugg, fully dressed, was gliding along the path toward Dill's farm. Some impulse-curiosity only, very likely made me jump into my trousers, seize a flannel jacket, draw on a pair of boots, and hastily follow him. When I got outside he was visible in the moonlight, mounting the path ahead of me. He held on his way toward the farm, I following. When he reached the yard he stopped for a moment, and seemed to peer up at the windows, which were all dark and unresponsive. I stood as quiet as I could, twenty yards from him, and moved cautiously on again when he turned to the right and passed through the gate into the meadows.

I saw no signs of Pyrrha. Smugg held on his way across the meadows down toward the stream; and suddenly the thought leapt to my brain that the poor fool meant to drown himself. But I could hardly believe it. Surely he must merely be taking a desperate lover's ramble, a last sad visit to the scenes of his silly, irrational infatuation. If I went up to him, I should look a fool, too; so I hung behind, ready to turn upon him if need appeared.

He walked down to the very edge of the stream; it ran deep and fast just here, under a high bank and a row of old willows. Smugg sat down on the bank, wet though the grass was, and clasped his hands over his knees. I crouched down a little way behind him, ready and alert. I am a good swimmer, and I did not doubt my power to pull him out, even if I were not in time to prevent him jumping in. I saw him rise, look over the brink, and sit down again. I almost thought I saw him shiver. And presently, through the stillness of the summer night, came the strangest, saddest sound, catching my ear as it drifted across the meadow. Smugg was sobbing, and his sobs-never loud-rose and fell with the subdued stress of intolerable pain.

Suddenly he leapt up, cried aloud, and flung his hands above his head. I thought he was gone this time; but he stopped, poised, as it seemed, over the water, and I heard him cry, "I can't, I can't!" and he sank down all in a heap on the bank, and fell again to sobbing. I hope never to see a man—if you can call Smugg a man-like that again.

He sat where he was and I where I was till the moon paled, and a distant hint of day discovered us. Then he rose, brushed himself with his hands, and slunk quickly from the bank. Had he looked anywhere but on the ground, he must have seen me; as it was, I only narrowly avoided him, and fell again into my place behind him. All the way back to our garden I followed him. As he passed through the gate, I quickened my pace, overtook him, and laid my hand on his arm. The man's face gave me what I remember my old nurse used to call “quite a turn.

"You're an average idiot, aren't you?" said I. "Oh, yes; I've been squatting in the wet by that infernal river, too. You ought to get three months, by rights.

He looked at me in a dazed sort of way.

"I daren't," he said. "I wanted to, but I daren't." There is really nothing more. We went to the wedding, leaving Smugg in bed; and in the evening we, leaving Smugg still in bed (I told Mary to keep an eye on him), and carrying a dozen of the grocer's best port, went up to dance at Dill's farm. Joe was polished till I could almost see myself in his cheek, and Pyrrha looked more charming than ever. She and Joe were to leave us early, to go to Joe's own house in the village, but I managed to get one dance with her. Indeed, I believe she wanted a word with me.

"Well, all's well that ends well, isn't it?" I began. "No more scoldings!—not from Mrs. Dill, anyhow."

"You can't let that alone, sir," said Pyrrha.

I chuckled, gently.

"Oh, I'll never refer to it again," said I. "This is a fine wedding of yours, Betsy.

"It's good of you and the other gentlemen to come, sir."' "We had to see the last of you," and I sighed very ostentatiously.

Pyrrha laughed. She did not believe in it, and she knew that I knew she did not, but the little compliment pleased her, all the same.

"Smugg," I pursued, "is ill in bed. But perhaps he wouldn't have come, anyhow."

"If you please, sir," Pyrrha began; but she stopped. "Yes, Betsy? What is it?"

"Would you take a message for me, sir?"

"If it's a proper one, Betsy, for a married lady to send."

She laughed a little, and said:

"Oh, it's no harm, sir. I'm afraid he ain't-he's rather down, sir.'

"Who?"

"Why, that Smugg, sir."

"Oh, that Smugg! Why, yes, a little down, Betsy, I fear.'

"You might tell him as I bear no malice, sir-as I'm not angry with him, I mean."

"Certainly," said I. "It will probably do him good. "He got me into trouble; but there, I can make allowances; and it's all right now, sir."

"In fact, you forgive him?"

"I think you might tell him so, sir," said Betsy.

"But," said I, "are you aware that he was another's all. the time?"

"What, sir?"

"Oh, yes, engaged to be married.”

"Well, I never!

Him! What, all the while he――?"

"Precisely."

"Well, that beats everything. Oh, if I'd known that!" "I'll give him your message."

"No, sir, not now, I thank you.

The villain!"

"You are right," said I. "I think your mother ought to have scolded him, too."

"Now you promised, sir" but Joe came up, and I escaped.

Looking back on the affair, I don't know that Smugg deserved much sympathy. He behaved uncommonly badly, in my opinion. Besides, it was absurd for such a creature as Smugg to suppose that a girl like Pyrrha would look at him. It was the most absolute impudence of him to kiss her. I never kissed her, though I may be allowed to think that, if she let Smugg, she would have let me. Still-well, I don't know what it is. I suppose poor old Smugg took it hard. You see, I saw him that night by the river. Besides, he had to marry that wooden-featured cousin of his, after all

Y

MARKHEIM

BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

ES,

Famous Story Series

said the dealer, "our windfalls are of various kinds. Some customers are ignorant, and then I touch a dividend on my superior knowledge. Some are dishonest," and here he held up the candle so that the light fell strongly on his visitor, "and in that case," he continued, "I profit by my virtue."

Markheim had but just entered from the daylight streets, and his eyes had not yet grown familiar with the mingled shine and darkness in the shop. At these pointed words, and before the near presence of the flame, he blinked painfully and looked aside.

The dealer chuckled. "You come to me on Christmas day," he resumed, "when you know that I am alone in my house, have put up my shutters, and make a point of refusing business. Well, you will have to pay for that; you will have to pay for my loss of time, when I should be balancing my books; you will have to pay, besides, for a kind of manner that I remark in you to-day very strongly. I am the essence of discretion, and ask no awkward questions; but when a customer cannot look me in the eye, he has to pay for it." The dealer once more chuckled; and then, changing to his usual business voice, though still with a note of irony, "You can give, as usual, a clear account of how you came into possession of the object?" he continued. "Still your uncle's cabinet? A remarkable collector, sir!"

And the little, pale, round-shouldered dealer stood almost on tip-toe, looking over the top of his gold spectacles, and nodding his head with every mark of disbelief. Markheim returned his gaze with one of infinite pity and a touch of horror.

"This time," said he, "you are in error. I have not come to sell, but to buy. I have no curios to dispose of;