oak, then constraining himself to an ironical smile, gave it to
Roderick, who was already on his legs. 'There is my Turkish dagger which
I bought yesterday,' said the mask, as he wrapped himself up; 'put it by
for me; it is a bad habit carrying about toys of cold steel: one can
never tell what ill use may be made of them, should a quarrel arise, or
any other knot which it is easier to cut than to untie. We meet again
to-morrow; farewell; a pleasant evening to you.' He waited for no reply,
but hastened down-stairs.

When Emilius was alone, he tried to forget his anger, and to fix his
attention on the laughable side of his friend's behaviour. After a while
his eyes rested upon the shining, finely-wrought dagger, and he said:
'What must be the feelings of a man who could thrust this sharp iron
into the breast of an enemy! but oh, what must be those of one who could
hurt a beloved object with it! He locked it up, then gently folded back
the shutters of his window, and looked across the narrow street. But no
light was there; all was dark in the opposite house; the dear form that
dwelt in it, and that used about this time to show herself at her
household occupations, seemed to be absent. 'Perhaps she is at the
ball,' thought Emilius, little as it suited her retired way of life.

Suddenly, however, a light entered; the little girl whom his beloved
unknown had about her, and with whom, during the day and evening, she
busied herself in various ways, carried a candle through the room, and
closed the window-shutters. An opening remained light, large enough for
over-looking a part of the little chamber from the spot where Emilius
stood; and there the happy youth would often bide till after midnight,
fixed as though he had been charmed there. He was full of gladness when
he saw her teaching the child to read, or instructing her in sewing and
knitting. Upon inquiry he had learnt that the little girl was a poor
orphan whom his fair maiden had charitably taken into the house to
educate her. Emilius's friends could not conceive why he lived in this
narrow street, in this comfortless lodging, why he was so little to be
seen in society, or how he employed himself. Without employment, in
solitude he was happy: only he felt angry with himself and his own
timidity and shyness, which kept him from venturing to seek a nearer
acquaintance with this fair being, notwithstanding the friendliness with
which on many occasions she had greeted and tha