red and the lights rose again.

"The world is weary of skepticism," remarked Lethal; "there is no
chemistry for that. It is the true magic, doubtless,--recovered from
antiquity by his Highness. Are the wonders exhausted?"

The Duke smiled again. He stretched out his hand toward Honoria, and she
slept. It was the work of an instant.

"I have seen that before," said Dalton.

"Not as we see it," responded his Highness. "Reve de Noir, less light!"
The room was dark in a moment. Over the head of Honoria appeared a cloud,
at first black, and soon in this a nucleus of light, which expanded and
shaped itself into an image and took the form of the sleeper, nude and
spiritual, a belt of rosy mist enveloping and concealing all but a head
and bust of ravishing beauty. The vision gazed with languid and beseeching
eyes upon Dalton, and a sigh seemed to heave the bosom. In scarce a
breathing-time, it was gone. Honoria waked, unconscious of what had
passed.

Deep terror and amazement fell upon us all.

"I have seen enough," said Dalton, rising slowly, and drawing a small
riding-whip, "to know now that this person is no duke, but either a
charlatan or a devil. In either case, since he has intruded here, to
desecrate and degrade, I find it proper to apply a magic more material."

At the word, all rose exclaiming,--"For God's sake, Dalton!" He pressed
forward and laid his hand upon the Duke. A cry burst from Reve de Noir
which rent our very souls; and a flash followed, unspeakably bright, which
revealed the demoniacal features of the Duke, who sat motionless,
regarding Dalton's uplifted arm. A darkness followed, profound and
palpable. I listened in terror. There was no sound. Were we transformed?
Silence, darkness, still. I closed my eyes, and opened them again. A pale,
cold light became slowly perceptible, stealing through a crevice, and
revealing the walls and ceiling of my narrow room. The dream still
oppressed me. I went to the window, and let in reality with the morning
light. Yet, for days after, the images of the real Honoria and Dalton, my
friends, remained separated from the creatures of the vision; and the
Denslow Palace of dreamland, the pictures, the revelry, and the magic of
the Demon Duke haunted my memory, and kept with them all their visionary
splendors and regrets.

MYRTLE FLOWERS

Since Love within my heart made nest,
With the fond trust of brooding bird,
I find no all-embracing word
To say how de