ysterious engraver of the runes, down to the long-headed, dirty-
handed boor from whom he had himself acquired it at a ruinous expense. As
for any alarm about its security, the idea had never presented itself.
What had stood four centuries might well endure a little longer.

Indeed, in this particular winter, after the finding and losing of the
treasure, the Desprez' had an anxiety of a very different order, and one
which lay nearer their hearts. Jean-Marie was plainly not himself. He
had fits of hectic activity, when he made unusual exertions to please,
spoke more and faster, and redoubled in attention to his lessons. But
these were interrupted by spells of melancholia and brooding silence,
when the boy was little better than unbearable.

'Silence,' the Doctor moralised--'you see, Anastasie, what comes of
silence. Had the boy properly unbosomed himself, the little
disappointment about the treasure, the little annoyance about Casimir's
incivility, would long ago have been forgotten. As it is, they prey upon
him like a disease. He loses flesh, his appetite is variable and, on the
whole, impaired. I keep him on the strictest regimen, I exhibit the most
powerful tonics; both in vain.'

'Don't you think you drug him too much?' asked madame, with an
irrepressible shudder.

'Drug?' cried the Doctor; 'I drug? Anastasie, you are mad!'

Time went on, and the boy's health still slowly declined. The Doctor
blamed the weather, which was cold and boisterous. He called in his
_confrere_ from Bourron, took a fancy for him, magnified his capacity,
and was pretty soon under treatment himself--it scarcely appeared for
what complaint. He and Jean-Marie had each medicine to take at different
periods of the day. The Doctor used to lie in wait for the exact moment,
watch in hand. 'There is nothing like regularity,' he would say, fill
out the doses, and dilate on the virtues of the draught; and if the boy
seemed none the better, the Doctor was not at all the worse.

Gunpowder Day, the boy was particularly low. It was scowling, squally
weather. Huge broken companies of cloud sailed swiftly overhead; raking
gleams of sunlight swept the village, and were followed by intervals of
darkness and white, flying rain. At times the wind lifted up its voice
and bellowed. The trees were all scourging themselves along the meadows,
the last leaves flying like dust.

The Doctor, between the boy and the weather, was in his element; he