? he would lose nothing, therefore,--not lose, but gain!
The seeming loss was a blessing in disguise. The son,--young,
handsome, hot of blood! Already new schemes began to take shape in the
Egyptian's brain. His dear revenge!--it should not starve, but feed on
the fat of the land,--yea, be drunk with strong wine.

He lay hugging himself, his long narrow eyes gleaming, his full lips
working together. He was revolving a devilish project,--the flintiest
criminal might have shuddered at it. But there was nothing flinty nor
unfeeling about Manetho. His emotions were alert and moist, his smile
came and went, his heart beat full; he was now the girl listening to
her lover's first passionate declaration!

He had gathered from Balder's diary that the young man was in search
of his uncle, and had been on his way to the house at the time of
their encounter. There was a chance that this unlucky episode might
frighten him away. He no doubt supposed himself guilty of manslaughter
at least; how gladly would the clergyman have reassured him! And
indeed there was no resentment in Manetho's heart because of his rough
usage at Balder's hands. His purposes lay too deep to influence
shallower moods. He presented a curious mixture of easy forgiveness
and unmitigable malice.

The only other anxiety besetting him arose from the loss of the ring.
He looked upon it as a talisman of excellent virtue, and moreover
perceived that in case Balder should pick it up, it might become the
means of identifying its owner and obstructing his plans. But these
were mere contingencies. The probability was that young Helwyse would
ultimately appear at his uncle's house, and would there be ensnared in
the seductive meshes of Manetho's web. The ring was most likely at the
bottom of the Sound. So, smiling his subtle feminine smile, the
Egyptian fell asleep, to dream of the cordial welcome he would give
his expected guest.

Towards midnight of the same day he approaches the house by way of the
winding avenue, his violin-case safe in hand. He steps out joyfully
beneath the wide-spread minuet of twinkling stars. On his way he comes
to a moss-grown bench at the foot of a mighty elm,--the bench on which
he sat with Helen during the stirring moments of their last interview.
Manetho's soul overflows to-night with flattering hopes, and he has
spare emotion for any demand. He drops on his knees beside this
decayed old bench, and kisses it twice or thrice with tender
v