lwyse, which gave
Manetho all the information he wanted.

He had so arranged matters that at Glyphic's death he had got the
control of the money into his own hands, and had made such diligent
use of it that enough was not now left to pay for his prosecution as a
thief and forger. In fact, had Balder delayed his return another year,
he would have found the enchanted castle in possession of the
auctioneer; and as to the fate of its inhabitants, one does not like
to speculate!

Having read the papers, Manetho replaced them, and next pulled out the
miniature of Doctor Glyphic. He studied this for a long time. It was
the portrait of a man to whom--so long as their earthly relations had
continued--the Egyptian renegade had been faithful. Perhaps there was
some secret germ of excellence in poor Hiero, unsuspected by the rest
of the world, but revealed to Manetho, from whom in turn it had drawn
the best virtues that his life had to show. Doctor Glyphic had never
been a comfortable companion; but Manetho was always patient and
honest with him. This integrity and forbearance were the more
remarkable, since the Doctor seldom acknowledged a kindness, and knew
so little of business that he might have been robbed of his fortune at
any moment with impunity.

Either from physical exhaustion or for some worthier reason, the
Egyptian cried over this miniature, as an affectionate girl might have
cried over the portrait of her dead lover. For a time he was all tears
and softness. His emotion had not the convulsiveness which, with men
of his age, is apt to accompany the exhibition of much feeling. He
wept with feminine fluency, nor did his tearfulness seem out of
character. There was a great deal of the woman in him.

Having wept his fill, he tenderly wiped his eyes, and returned the
picture to its receptacle; and first assuring himself that nothing
else was concealed in the haversack, he shut it up and resumed his
meditations.

It was the son, then, whom he had met,--and Thor was dead. Dead!--that
was a hard fact for Manetho to swallow. His enemy had escaped
him,--was dead! Through all the years of waiting, Manetho had not
anticipated this. How should Thor die before revenge had been wreaked
upon him?--But he was dead!

By degrees, however, his mind began to adjust itself to the situation.
The son, at all events, was left him. He cuddled the thought,
whispering to himself and slyly smiling. Did not the father live again
in the son