ks yourself and--her Majesty,' added Lachesis, with a sneer.

'Immediately announce that we will receive him.'

The unexpected guest was not slow in acknowledging the royal summons.
A hasty treaty was drawn up; he was to enter the palace unmolested,
on condition that he ceased playing his lyre. The Fates and the Furies
exchanged significant glances as his approach was announced.

The man, the live man, who had committed the unprecedented crime of
entering Hell without a licence, and the previous deposit of his soul as
security for the good behaviour of his body, stood before the surprised
and indignant Court of Hades. Tall and graceful in stature, and crowned
with laurels, Proserpine was glad to observe that the man, who was
evidently famous, was also good-looking.

'Thy purpose, mortal?' inquired Pluto, with awful majesty.

'Mercy!' answered the stranger in a voice of exquisite melody, and
sufficiently embarrassed to render him interesting.

'What is mercy?' inquired the Fates and the Furies.

'Speak, stranger, without fear,' said Proserpine. 'Thy name?'

'Is Orpheus; but a few days back the too happy husband of the enchanting
Eurydice. Alas! dread King, and thou too, beautiful and benignant
partner of his throne, I won her by my lyre, and by my lyre I would
redeem her. Know, then, that in the very glow of our gratified passion
a serpent crept under the flowers on which we reposed, and by a fatal
sting summoned my adored to the shades. Why did it not also summon me?
I will not say why should I not have been the victim in her stead; for
I feel too keenly that the doom of Eurydice would not have been less
forlorn, had she been the wretched being who had been spared to life. O
King! they whispered on earth that thou too hadst yielded thy heart to
the charms of love. Pluto, they whispered, is no longer stern: Pluto
also feels the all-subduing influence of beauty. Dread monarch, by the
self-same passion that rages in our breasts alike, I implore thy mercy.
Thou hast risen from the couch of love, the arm of thy adored has
pressed upon thy heart, her honied lips have clung with rapture
to thine, still echo in thy ears all the enchanting phrases of her
idolatry. Then, by the memory of these, by all the higher and ineffable
joys to which these lead, King of Hades, spare me, oh! spare me,
Eurydice!'

Proserpine threw her arms round the neck of her husband, and, hiding her
face in his breast, wept.

'Rash mortal, you d