loosely in a black despatch-box which contains the
few records Charley Steele left behind him. What he wrote that night was
the note of his mind, the key to all those strange events through which
he began to move two hours after the lines were written:

Over thy face is a veil of white sea-mist,
Only thine eyes shine like stars; bless or blight me,
I will hold close to the leash at thy wrist,
O Aphrodite!

Thou in the East and I here in the West,
Under our newer skies purple and pleasant:
Who shall decide which is better--attest,
Saga or peasant?

Thou with Serapis, Osiris, and Isis,
I with Jehovah, in vapours and shadows;
Thou with the gods' joy-enhancing devices,
Sweet-smelling meadows!

What is there given us?--Food and some raiment,
Toiling to reach to some Patmian haven,
Giving up all for uncertain repayment,
Feeding the raven!

Striving to peer through the infinite azure,
Alternate turning to earthward and falling,
Measuring life with Damastian measure,
Finite, appalling.

What does it matter! They passed who with Homer
Poured out the wine at the feet of their idols:
Passing, what found they? To-come a misnomer,
It and their idols?

Sacristan, acolyte, player, or preacher,
Each to his office, but who holds the key?
Death, only Death--thou, the ultimate teacher
Wilt show it to me.

And when the forts and the barriers fall,
Shall we then find One the true, the almighty,
Wisely to speak with the worst of us all--
Ah, Aphrodite!

Waiting, I turn from the futile, the human,
Gone is the life of me, laughing with youth
Steals to learn all in the face of a woman,
Mendicant Truth!

Rising with a bitter laugh, and murmuring the last lines, he thrust the
papers into a drawer, locked it, and going quickly from the room, he
went down-stairs. His horse and cart were waiting for him, and he got
in.

The groom looked at him inquiringly. "The Cote Dorion!" he said, and
they sped away through the night.

CHAPTER VIII. THE COST OF THE ORNAMENT

One, two, three, four, five, six miles. The sharp click of the iron
hoofs on the road; the strong rush of the river; the sweet smell of the
maple and the pungent balsam; the dank