t a head
out of a contiguous chamber. There was then a knock at Moodie's door.
"Come in!" said he.

And Zenobia entered. The details of the interview that followed being
unknown to me,--while, notwithstanding, it would be a pity quite to
lose the picturesqueness of the situation,--I shall attempt to sketch
it, mainly from fancy, although with some general grounds of surmise in
regard to the old man's feelings.

She gazed wonderingly at the dismal chamber. Dismal to her, who beheld
it only for an instant; and how much more so to him, into whose brain
each bare spot on the ceiling, every tatter of the paper-hangings, and
all the splintered carvings of the mantelpiece, seen wearily through
long years, had worn their several prints! Inexpressibly miserable is
this familiarity with objects that have been from the first disgustful.

"I have received a strange message," said Zenobia, after a moment's
silence, "requesting, or rather enjoining it upon me, to come hither.
Rather from curiosity than any other motive,--and because, though a
woman, I have not all the timidity of one,--I have complied. Can it be
you, sir, who thus summoned me?"

"It was," answered Moodie.

"And what was your purpose?" she continued. "You require charity,
perhaps? In that case, the message might have been more fitly worded.
But you are old and poor, and age and poverty should be allowed their
privileges. Tell me, therefore, to what extent you need my aid."

"Put up your purse," said the supposed mendicant, with an inexplicable
smile. "Keep it,--keep all your wealth,--until I demand it all, or
none! My message had no such end in view. You are beautiful, they
tell me; and I desired to look at you."

He took the one lamp that showed the discomfort and sordidness of his
abode, and approaching Zenobia held it up, so as to gain the more
perfect view of her, from top to toe. So obscure was the chamber, that
you could see the reflection of her diamonds thrown upon the dingy
wall, and flickering with the rise and fall of Zenobia's breath. It was
the splendor of those jewels on her neck, like lamps that burn before
some fair temple, and the jewelled flower in her hair, more than the
murky, yellow light, that helped him to see her beauty. But he beheld
it, and grew proud at heart; his own figure, in spite of his mean
habiliments, assumed an air of state and grandeur.

"It is well," cried old Moodie. "Keep your wealth. You are right
worthy