ed you, and there
is now before you one more difficult passage. Her master, you must
say, is ill; you must let her in, with an assured but rather serious
countenance; no smiles, no overacting, and I promise you success!
Once the girl within, and the door closed, the same dexterity that has
already rid you of the dealer will relieve you of this last danger in
your path. Thenceforward you have the whole evening--the whole night,
if needful--to ransack the treasures of the house and to make good your
safety. This is help that comes to you with the mask of danger. Up!"
he cried; "up, friend. Your life hangs trembling in the scales; up, and
act!"

Markheim steadily regarded his counsellor. "If I be condemned to evil
acts," he said, "there is still one door of freedom open: I can cease
from action. If my life be an ill thing, I can lay it down. Though I be,
as you say truly, at the beck of every small temptation, I can yet, by
one decisive gesture, place myself beyond the reach of all. My love of
good is damned to barrenness; it may, and let it be! But I have still my
hatred of evil; and from that, to your galling disappointment, you shall
see that I can draw both energy and courage."

The features of the visitor began to undergo a wonderful and lovely
change: they brightened and softened with a tender triumph, and, even
as they brightened, faded and dislimned. But Markheim did not pause
to watch or understand the transformation. He opened the door and went
downstairs very slowly, thinking to himself. His past went soberly
before him; he beheld it as it was, ugly and strenuous like a dream,
random as chance medley--a scene of defeat. Life, as he thus reviewed
it, tempted him no longer; but on the further side he perceived a quiet
haven for his bark. He paused in the passage, and looked into the shop,
where the candle still burned by the dead body. It was strangely silent.
Thoughts of the dealer swarmed into his mind, as he stood gazing. And
then the bell once more broke out into impatient clamour.

He confronted the maid upon the threshold with something like a smile.

"You had better go for the police," said he; "I have killed your
master."

QUEEN TITA'S WAGER, by William Black

I--FRANZISKA FAHLER

It is a Christmas morning in Surrey--cold, still and gray, with a frail
glimmer of sunshine coming through the bare trees to melt the hoar-frost
on the lawn. The postman has just gone out, swinging the gate be