"There is magic of two kinds—the dark and
evil, appertaining to witchcraft or necromancy;
the pure and beneficent, which is but philosophy,
applied to certain mysteries in Nature remote
from the beaten tracks of science, but, which
deepened the wisdom of ancient sages, and can
yet unriddle the myths of departed races."

"Sir Philip," I said, with impatient and angry
interruption, "if you think that a jargon of this
kind be worthy a man of your acquirements and
station, it is at least a waste of time to address
it to me. I am led to conclude that you desire
to make use of me for some purpose which I
have a right to suppose honest and upright,
because all you know of me is, that I rendered to
your relation services which cannot lower my
character in your eyes. If your object be, as you
have intimated, to aid you in exposing and
disabling a man whose antecedents have been those
of guilt, and who threatens with danger the
society which receives him, you must give me
proofs that are not reducible to magic; and you
must prepossess me against the person you accuse,
not by powders and fumes that disorder the
brain, but by substantial statements, such as
justify one man in condemning another. And,
since you have thought fit to convince me that
there are chemical means at your disposal, by
which the imagination can be so affected as to
accept, temporarily, illusions for realities, so I
again demand, and now still more decidedly than
before, that while you address yourself to my
reason, whether to explain your object or to
vindicate your charges against a man whom I have
admitted to my acquaintance, you will divest
yourself of all means and agencies to warp my
judgment, so illicit and fraudulent as those which
you own yourself to possess. Let the casket,
with all its contents, be transferred to my hands,
and pledge me your word that, in giving that
casket, you reserve to yourself no other means
by which chemistry can be abused to those
influences over physical organisation, which
ignorance or imposture may ascribe to—magic."

"I accept no conditions for my confidence,
though I think the better of you for attempting
to make them. If I live, you will seek me yourself,
and implore my aid. Meanwhile, listen
to me, and——"

"No; I prefer the rain and the thunder to the
whispers that steal to my ear in the dark from
one of whom I have reason to beware."

So saying, I stepped forth, and at that moment
the lightning flashed through the arch, and
brought into full view the face of the man beside
me. Seen by that glare, it was pale as the face
of a corpse, but its expression was compassionate
and serene.

I hesitated, for the expression of that hueless
countenance touched me; it was not the face
which inspires distrust or fear.

"Come," said I, gently; "grant my demand.
The casket——"

"It is no scruple of distrust that now makes
that demand; it is a curiosity which in itself is a
fearful tempter. Did you now possess what at
this moment you desire, how bitterly you would
repent."

"Do you still refuse my demand?"

"I refuse."

"If then you really need me, it is you who will
repent."

I passed from the arch into the open space.
The rain had paused, the thunder was more
distant. I looked back when I had gained the
opposite side of the way, at the angle of a street
which led to my own house. As I did so, again
the skies lightened, but the flash was comparatively
slight and evanescent; it did not penetrate
the gloom of the arch; it did not bring the form
of Sir Philip into view; but, just under the base
of the outer buttress to the gateway, I descried
the outline of a dark figure, cowering down,
huddled up for shelter, the outline so indistinct
and so soon lost to sight, as the flash faded, that
I could not distinguish if it were man or brute.
If it were some chance passer-by, who had sought
refuge from the rain, and overheard any part of
our strange talk, "the listener," thought I, with
a half smile, "must have been mightily
perplexed."

CHAPTER XXXV.

ON reaching my own home, I found my servant
sitting up for me with the information that my
attendance was immediately required. The little
boy whom Margrave's carelessness had so injured,
and for whose injury he had shown so little feeling,
had been weakened by the confinement which
the nature of the injury required, and for the
last few days had been generally ailing. The
father had come to my house a few minutes before
I reached it, in great distress of mind, saying that
his child had been seized with fever; and had
become delirious. Hearing that I was at the mayor's
house, he had hurried thither in search of me.

I felt as if it were almost a relief to the troubled
and haunting thoughts which tormented me, to
be summoned to the exercise of a familiar
knowledge. I hastened to the bedside of the little
sufferer, and soon forgot all else in the anxious
struggle for a human life. The struggle promised
to be successful; the worst symptoms began to
yield to remedies prompt and energetic, if simple.
I remained at the house, rather to comfort and
support the parents, than because my continued
attendance was absolutely needed, till the night
was well-nigh gone, and, all cause of immediate
danger having subsided, I then found myself once
more in the streets. An atmosphere palely clear
in the grey of dawn had succeeded to the thunder-
clouds of the stormy night; the street-lamps,
here and there, burned wan and still. I was
walking slowly and wearily, so tired out that I
was scarcely conscious of my own thoughts, when
in a narrow lane, my feet stopped almost
mechanically before a human form stretched at full
length in the centre of the road, right in my path.
The form was dark in the shadow thrown from
the neighbouring houses. "Some poor drunkard,"
thought I, and the humanity inseparable from my