Oh! no, oh! no, oh! no. I will not go back there! I took the letter to the commissaire of Rouen,

"It is a very adroit restitution," said he. "We must dissemble and lay low. We will pinch the man one of these days!"

*

But he has not been pinched. No. They have not pinched him, and I am afraid of him, now, as if he were a wild beast let loose at my heels.

Undiscoverable! he is undiscoverable, this monster with a skull like a full moon! He will never be caught. He will never return to his home. What matters it to him. I am the only one that he fears to meet, and I won't do it.

I won't I won't! I won't!

And if he does return, if he takes possession of his shop again, who is there that can prove that he had my furniture there? My testimony is all there is against him, and I feel that it is beginning to be discredited.

Ah! but no! it was no longer possible to lead such a life. And then I could not keep the secret of what I had seen. I could not keep on living like the rest of the world with the dread that such things might happen me again.

I came and found the doctor who has charge of this asylum and told him everything.

After he had examined me at great length, he said: "Would you agree to remain here for some time, monsieur ?"

"Do you wish a pavilion to yourself?" "Yes, monsieur."

"No, monsieur; no, not a soul. The man of Rouen,

in his desire for vengeance, might make bold to come and pursue me here."

now.

And so I am here alone, all alone, for three months, My mind is at ease, nearly. I fear but one thing: If the antiquary should become crazy-and if they should bring him to this asylumvery prisoners themselves are not secure

The

GEORGE MEREDITH

GEORGE MEREDITH, famous English novelist and poet, was born in Hampshire, England, in 1828. He was educated in Germany; studied law, but gave it up for literature. His first novel, "The Ordeal of Richard Feverel," appeared in 1859. Of his later works the most popular have been "Diana of the Crossways," and The Amazing Marriage." He loved to make a philosophical study of his characters, and we pass rapidly from a page that is as heavy as a dissertation to one filled with life, love and beauty.

HE

DIANA'S NIGHT-WATCH

(From "Diana of the Crossways")

E stepped into the room, and thrilled to hear the quiet voice beside the bed: "Who is it?" Apologies and excuses were on his tongue. The vibration of those grave tones checked them. "It is you," she said.

She sat in shadow, her hands joined on her lap. An unopened book was under the lamp.

He spoke in an underbreath: "I have just come. I was not sure I should find you here. Pardon." "There is a chair."

He murmured thanks and entered into the stillness, observing her.

"You have been watching.

tired."

66 No."

You must be

"An hour was asked, only one." "I could not leave him."

"Watchers are at hand to relieve you."

"It is better for him to have me."

The chord of her voice told him of the gulfs she had sunk in during the night. The thought of her endurance became a burden.

He let fall his breath for patience, and tapped the floor with his foot.

He feared to discompose her by speaking. The silence grew more fearful, as the very speech of Death between them.

"You came. I thought it right to let you know instantly. I hoped you would come to-morrow." "I could not delay."

"You have been sitting alone here since eleven.» I have not found it long."

66

...

"You must want some refreshment . . . tea ?" "I need nothing."

"It can be made ready in a few minutes." "I could not eat or drink."

He tried to brush away the impression of the tomb in the heavily-curtained chamber by thinking of the summer morn outside; he spoke of it, the rosy sky, the dewy grass, the piping birds. listened, as one hearing of a quitted sphere.

She

Their breathing in common was just heard if either drew a deeper breath. At moments his eyes wandered and shut. Alternately in his mind Death had vaster meanings and doubtfuller; Life cowered under the shadow or outshone it. He glanced from her to the figure in the bed, and she seemed swallowed.

He said: "It is time for you to have rest. You know your room. I will stay till the servants are up."

She replied: "No, let this night with him be mine."

"I am not intruding?"
"If you wish to remain."

No traces of weeping were on her face. The lamp-shade revealed it colorless, and lustreless her eyes. She was robed in black. She held her hands clasped.

"You have not suffered?"

66 Oh, no."

She said it without sighing; nor was her speech mournful, only brief.

"You have seen death before?"

"I sat by my father four nights. I was a girl then; I cried till I had no more tears."

He felt a burning pressure behind his eyeballs. "Death is natural," he said.

"It is natural to be aged. When they die honored. .. ." She looked where the dead man lay. "To sit beside the young, cut off from their dear opening life! A little shudder swept

over her. "Oh! that!"

"You were very good to come. thank you for fulfilling his wish." "He knew it would be my wish." Her hands pressed together.

"He lies peacefully!"

We must all

"I have raised the lamp on him, and wondered each time. So changeless he lies. But so like a sleep that will wake. We never see peace but in the features of the dead. Will you look? They are beautiful. They have a heavenly sweetness." The desire to look was evidently recurrent with her. Dacier rose.

Their eyes fell together on the dead man, as thoughtfully as Death allows to the creatures of sensation.

"And after?" he said in low tones. "I trust to my Maker," she replied. see a change since he breathed his last?" "Not any."

"You were with him?"

"Do you