great desire to hear. I
fancied, somehow, that they were talking about me; they looked at me and
moved their hands towards me now and again. I heard Rupert's laugh, and
saw his club poised over me; then Rischenheim caught him by the wrist. I
know now that Rischenheim was reminding his cousin that he had promised
not to kill me, that Rupert's oath did not weigh a straw in the scales,
but that he was held back only by a doubt whether I alive or my dead
body would be more inconvenient to dispose of. Yet then I did not
understand, but lay there listless. And presently the talking forms
seemed to cease their talking; they grew blurred and dim, running into
one another, and all mingling together to form one great shapeless
creature that seemed to murmur and gibber over me, some such monster
as a man sees in his dreams. I hated to see it, and closed my eyes; its
murmurings and gibberings haunted my ears for awhile, making me restless
and unhappy; then they died away. Their going made me happy; I sighed in
contentment; and everything became as though it were not.

Yet I had one more vision, breaking suddenly across my unconsciousness.
A bold, rich voice rang out, "By God, I will!"

"No, no," cried another. Then, "What's that?" There was a rush of feet,
the cries of men who met in anger or excitement, the crack of a shot and
of another quickly following, oaths, and scuffling. Then came the sound
of feet flying. I could not make it out; I grew weary with the puzzle of
it. Would they not be quiet? Quiet was what I wanted. At last they grew
quiet; I closed my eyes again. The pain was less now; they were quiet; I
could sleep.

When a man looks back on the past, reviewing in his mind the chances
Fortune has given and the calls she has made, he always torments himself
by thinking that he could have done other and better than in fact he
did. Even now I lie awake at night sometimes, making clever plans by
which I could have thwarted Rupert's schemes. In these musings I am very
acute; Anton von Strofzin's idle talk furnishes me with many a clue,
and I draw inferences sure and swift as a detective in the story books.
Bauer is my tool, I am not his. I lay Rischenheim by the heels, send
Rupert howling off with a ball in his arm, and carry my precious burden
in triumph to Mr. Rassendyll. By the time I have played the whole game I
am indeed proud of myself. Yet in truth--in daylight truth--I fear that,
unless Heaven sent me a fresh set of