y among his furs was a small morocco-covered despatch-box.
This he now proceeded to unlock, and to draw from it a folded paper
which, on being opened, displayed a closely-written array of figures, as
though it were the working out of some formidable problem in arithmetic.
Platzoff smiled, and his smile was very different from his cynical
snigger, as his eyes ran over the long array of figures. "I must try and
get this finished as soon as I am back at Bon Repos," he muttered to
himself. "I am frightened when I think what would happen if I were to
die before its completion. My great secret would die with me, and
perhaps hundreds of years would pass away before it would be brought to
light. What a discovery it would be! To those concerned it would seem as
though they had found the key-note of some lost religion--as though they
had penetrated into some temple dedicated to the gods of eld."

His soliloquy was suddenly interrupted by three piercing shrieks from
the engine, followed by a terrible jolting and swaying of the carriage,
which made it almost impossible for those inside to keep their seats.
Captain Ducie was alive to the danger in a moment. One glance out of the
window was enough. "We are off the line? Hold fast!" he shouted to
Platzoff, drawing up his legs, and setting his teeth, and looking very
fierce and determined. M. Platzoff tried to follow his English friend's
example. His yellow complexion faded to a sickly green. With eyes in
which there was no room now for anything save anguish and terror
unspeakable, he yet snarled at the mouth and showed his teeth like a
wolf brought hopelessly to bay.

The swaying and jolting grew worse. There was a grinding and crunching
under the wheels of the carriage as though a thousand huge coffee-mills
were at work. Suddenly the train parted in the middle, and while the
forepart, with the engine, went ploughing through the ballast till
brought up in safety a few hundred yards further on, the carriage in
which were Ducie and Platzoff, together with the hinder part of the
train, went toppling over a high embankment, and crashing down the side,
and rolling over and over, came to a dead stand at the bottom, one huge
mass of wreck and disaster.

(_To be continued._)

SONNET.

Yes, I have heard it oft: a few brief years
True life comprise. The rest is but a dream:
What though to thee like life it vainly seem.
Fool, trust it not; 'tis not what it appears