rd and husky tones. "If you
make an attempt to climb to your balcony, I will at once loosen the
rope. Is it possible you have not suspected who I am, and why I am
here?"

The Prince was dizzy. He had whirled gently around in one direction for
some time, but now the motion ceased, and he began to revolve with
equal gentleness in the other direction, like the body of a man who is
hanged.

A sharp memory pierced his brain.

"Meela is dead," he cried, with a gasp in his breath. "She was drowned.
You are flesh and blood. Tell me you are not her spirit?"

"I cannot tell you that," answered the girl. "My own spirit seemed to
leave me when the body of my sister was brought from the canal at the
foot of our garden. You know the place well; you know the gate and the
steps. I think her spirit then took the place of my own. Ever since
that day I have lived only for revenge, and now, Prince Padema, the
hour I have waited for is come."

An agonising cry for help rang through the silent street, but there was
no answer to the call.

"It is useless," said the girl calmly. "It will be accounted an
accident. Your servant bought the rope that will be found with you. Any
one who knows you will have an explanation ready for what has happened.
No one will suspect me, and I want you to know that your death will be
unavenged, prince though you are."

"You are a demon," he cried.

She watched him silently as he stealthily climbed up the rope. He did
not appear sufficiently to realise how visible his body was against the
still luminous sky. When he was within a foot of his balcony she
loosened the rope, and again he sunk to where he had been before, and
hung there exhausted by his futile effort.

"I will marry you," he said, "if you will let me reach my balcony
again. I will, upon my honour. You shall be a princess."

She laughed lightly.

"We Venetians never forget nor forgive. Prince Padema, good-bye!"

She sunk fainting in her chair as she let go the rope, and clapped her
hands to her ears, so that no sound came up from the stone street
below. When she staggered into her room, all was silence.

THE EXPOSURE OF LORD STANSFORD.

The large mansion of Louis Heckle, millionaire and dealer in gold
mines, was illuminated from top to bottom. Carriages were arriving and
departing, and guests were hurrying up the carpeted stair after passing
under the canopy that stretched from the doorway to the edge of the
street. A crowd of