Pictures long forgotten passed before him, as his footsteps led him
far from the brightly-lighted streets to a sequestered thoroughfare
that lay peacefully on the confines of the busy city; a spot inviting
rest from the turmoil yonder and in accord with the melancholy
vibrations of the bells. He stood, unseen in the shadow of great
trees, before a low rambling mansion; not so remote but that the
perfume from the garden was wafted to him over the hedge.

"A troubadour!" he said scornfully to himself. "Edward Mauville
sighing at a lady's window like some sentimental serenader! There's a
light yonder. Now to play my despairing part, I must watch for her
image. If I were some one else, I should say my heart beats faster
than usual. She comes--the fair lady! Now the curtain's down. All that
may be seen is her shadow. So, despairing lover, hug that shadow to
your breast!"

He plucked a rose from a bush in her garden, laughing at himself the
while for doing so, and as he moved away he repeated with conviction:

"A shadow! That is all she ever could have been to me!"

CHAPTER III

FROM GARRET TO GARDEN

"Celestina, what do you think this is?" Waving something that crackled
in mid air.

"A piece of paper," said Celestina from her place on the hearth.

"Paper!" scoffed Straws. "It's that which Horace calls a handmaid, if
you know how to use it; a mistress, if you do not--money! It
is--success, the thing which wrecks more lives than cyclones, fires
and floods! We were happy enough before this came, weren't we,
Celestina?"

The girl nodded her head, a look of deep anxiety in her eyes.

"Oh, why did the critics so damn the book it fairly leaped to
popularity!" went on the bard. "Why did they advise me to learn a
trade? to spoil no more reams of paper? To spoil reams of paper and
get what--this little bit in return!"

"Is it so very much money?" asked Celestina.

"An enormous amount--one thousand dollars! And the worst of it is, my
publishers write there may be more to come."

"Well," said the child, after a long, thoughtful pause, "why don't you
give it away?"

"Hum! Your suggestion, my dear--"

"But, perhaps, no one would take it?" interrupted Celestina.

"Perhaps they wouldn't!" agreed Straws, rubbing his hands. "So, under
the circumstances, let us consider how we may cultivate some of the
vices of the rich. It is a foregone conclusion, set down by the
philosophers, that misery assails riches. The phi