th, almost
her life, for her king--all but her diamonds. It was at Brussels, whither
I had escaped from The Terror--I, a weak and desolate boy of but
fourteen. I lived with her, in her common, cheap lodging. For five years
we made out our friendless and deserted existence in company. In truth,
we were an embarrassment, and they looked at us askance. Long after her
mind failed her, the memory of her own former beauty dwelt with her; yet
she could not comprehend but that it was still a talisman to conjure
with. Even to the end she would deck herself and coquet to her glass. But
she was good and faithful, Plancine; and, at the last, when she was
dying, she gave me this box. 'It contains all that is left to me of my
former condition,' she said. 'It shall make thy fortune for thee in
England, my nephew, whither thou must journey when poor Dorine is
underground.' By that I knew it was her cherished diamonds she bequeathed
me. 'They do not want thee here,' she said. 'Thou must take boat for
England when I am gone.'

"But George, my friend!"

The young man was standing sorrowful by the open window. He could have
seen the sailing-boats in the bay, the sailing clouds in the sky placidly
floating over a world of serene and verdurous loveliness. But his vision
was all inward, of the piteous calm, following storm and disaster, in
which the dying voice from the bed was like the lapping of little waves.

He came at once and stood over Plancine, not daring to touch her.

"It was not wilfulness, but my great love," said the broken, gentle
voice, "that made the condition. All of you I cannot extol, knowing what
I have known. But you are an honest gentleman and a true, my brave; and
you shall make this dearest a noble husband."

Waveringly George stole his hand towards the bowed head and let it rest
there.

From the battered face a smile broke like flowers from a blasted soil.

"Withholding my countenance only as I foresaw the means to enrich you
both were approaching my grasp, I waited for the hill to break away that
I might recover my casket. It was there--it is here; and now my Plancine
shall never know poverty more, or her husband restrict the scope of his
so admirable art on the score of necessity."

He saw the eyes questioning what the lips would not ask.

"But how I lost it?" he said. "I took the box; I obeyed her behests. The
moment was acute; the times peremptory. I sailed for England, hurriedly
and secretly, never to t