“Thenyoudon'tknowwhathewrote？You'renotsureitWAShisname？”
　　Thekitchen-maidwasnotsure，butsupposeditwas，sincehehadwrittenitinanswertoherinquiryastowhomsheshouldannounce。
　　“AndwhenyoucarriedthepaperintoMr。Boyne，whatdidhesay？”
　　Thekitchen-maiddidnotthinkthatMr。Boynehadsaidanything，butshecouldnotbesure，forjustasshehadhandedhimthepaperandhewasopeningit，shehadbecomeawarethatthevisitorhadfollowedherintothelibrary，andshehadslippedout，leavingthetwogentlementogether。
　　“Butthen，ifyoulefttheminthelibrary，howdoyouknowthattheywentoutofthehouse？”
　　Thisquestionplungedthewitnessintomomentaryinarticulateness，fromwhichshewasrescuedbyTrimmle，who，bymeansofingeniouscircumlocutions，elicitedthestatementthatbeforeshecouldcrossthehalltothebackpassageshehadheardthegentlemenbehindher，andhadseenthemgooutofthefrontdoortogether。
　　“Then，ifyousawthegentlemantwice，youmustbeabletotellmewhathelookedlike。“
　　Butwiththisfinalchallengetoherpowersofexpressionitbecameclearthatthelimitofthekitchen-maid'sendurancehadbeenreached。Theobligationofgoingtothefrontdoorto“showin“avisitorwasinitselfsosubversiveofthefundamentalorderofthingsthatithadthrownherfacultiesintohopelessdisarray，andshecouldonlystammerout，aftervariouspantingeffortsatevocation，“Hishat，mum，wasdifferent-like，asyoumightsay——“
　　“Different？Howdifferent？”Maryflashedoutather，herownmind，inthesameinstant，leapingbacktoanimageleftonitthatmorning，buttemporarilylostunderlayersofsubsequentimpressions。
　　“Hishathadawidebrim，youmean？andhisfacewaspale——ayoungishface？”Marypressedher，withawhite-lippedintensityofinterrogation。Butifthekitchen-maidfoundanyadequateanswertothischallenge，itwassweptawayforherlistenerdowntherushingcurrentofherownconvictions。Thestranger——thestrangerinthegarden！WhyhadMarynotthoughtofhimbefore？
　　Sheneedednoonenowtotellherthatitwashewhohadcalledforherhusbandandgoneawaywithhim。Butwhowashe，andwhyhadBoyneobeyedhiscall？
　　IV
　　Itleapedoutathersuddenly，likeagrinoutofthedark，thattheyhadoftencalledEnglandsolittle——“suchaconfoundedlyhardplacetogetlostin。“
　　ACONFOUNDEDLYHARDPLACETOGETLOSTIN！Thathadbeenherhusband'sphrase。Andnow，withthewholemachineryofofficialinvestigationsweepingitsflash-lightsfromshoretoshore，andacrossthedividingstraits；now，withBoyne'snameblazingfromthewallsofeverytownandvillage，hisportraithowthatwrungher！hawkedupanddownthecountryliketheimageofahuntedcriminal；nowthelittlecompact，populousisland，sopoliced，surveyed，andadministered，revealeditselfasaSphinx-likeguardianofabysmalmysteries，staringbackintohiswife'sanguishedeyesasifwiththemaliciousjoyofknowingsomethingtheywouldneverknow！
　　InthefortnightsinceBoyne'sdisappearancetherehadbeennowordofhim，notraceofhismovements。Eventheusualmisleadingreportsthatraiseexpectancyintorturedbosomshadbeenfewandfleeting。Noonebutthebewilderedkitchen-maidhadseenhimleavethehouse，andnooneelsehadseen“thegentleman“whoaccompaniedhim。Allinquiriesintheneighborhoodfailedtoelicitthememoryofastranger'spresencethatdayintheneighborhoodofLyng。AndnoonehadmetEdwardBoyne，eitheraloneorincompany，inanyoftheneighboringvillages，orontheroadacrossthedowns，orateitherofthelocalrailway-stations。ThesunnyEnglishnoonhadswallowedhimascompletelyasifhehadgoneoutintoCimmeriannight。
　　Mary，whileeveryexternalmeansofinvestigationwasworkingatitshighestpressure，hadransackedherhusband'spapersforanytraceofantecedentcomplications，ofentanglementsorobligationsunknowntoher，thatmightthrowafaintrayintothedarkness。ButifanysuchhadexistedinthebackgroundofBoyne'slife，theyhaddisappearedascompletelyastheslipofpaperonwhichthevisitorhadwrittenhisname。Thereremainednopossiblethreadofguidanceexcept——ifitwereindeedanexception——theletterwhichBoynehadapparentlybeenintheactofwritingwhenhereceivedhismysterioussummons。Thatletter，readandrereadbyhiswife，andsubmittedbyhertothepolice，yieldedlittleenoughforconjecturetofeedon。
　　“IhavejustheardofElwell'sdeath，andwhileIsupposethereisnownofartherriskoftrouble，itmightbesafer——“Thatwasall。The“riskoftrouble“waseasilyexplainedbythenewspaperclippingwhichhadapprisedMaryofthesuitbroughtagainstherhusbandbyoneofhisassociatesintheBlueStarenterprise。
　　TheonlynewinformationconveyedintheletterwasthefactofitsshowingBoyne，whenhewroteit，tobestillapprehensiveoftheresultsofthesuit，thoughhehadassuredhiswifethatithadbeenwithdrawn，andthoughtheletteritselfdeclaredthattheplaintiffwasdead。Ittookseveralweeksofexhaustivecablingtofixtheidentityofthe“Parvis“towhomthefragmentarycommunicationwasaddressed，butevenaftertheseinquirieshadshownhimtobeaWaukeshalawyer，nonewfactsconcerningtheElwellsuitwereelicited。Heappearedtohavehadnodirectconcerninit，buttohavebeenconversantwiththefactsmerelyasanacquaintance，andpossibleintermediary；andhedeclaredhimselfunabletodivinewithwhatobjectBoyneintendedtoseekhisassistance。
　　Thisnegativeinformation，solefruitofthefirstfortnight'sfeverishsearch，wasnotincreasedbyajotduringtheslowweeksthatfollowed。Maryknewthattheinvestigationswerestillbeingcarriedon，butshehadavaguesenseoftheirgraduallyslackening，astheactualmarchoftimeseemedtoslacken。Itwasasthoughthedays，flyinghorror-struckfromtheshroudedimageoftheoneinscrutableday，gainedassuranceasthedistancelengthened，tillatlasttheyfellbackintotheirnormalgait。Andsowiththehumanimaginationsatworkonthedarkevent。Nodoubtitoccupiedthemstill，butweekbyweekandhourbyhouritgrewlessabsorbing，tookuplessspace，wasslowlybutinevitablycrowdedoutoftheforegroundofconsciousnessbythenewproblemsperpetuallybubblingupfromthevaporouscaldronofhumanexperience。
　　EvenMaryBoyne'sconsciousnessgraduallyfeltthesameloweringofvelocity。Itstillswayedwiththeincessantoscillationsofconjecture；buttheywereslower，morerhythmicalintheirbeat。
　　Thereweremomentsofoverwhelminglassitudewhen，likethevictimofsomepoisonwhichleavesthebrainclear，butholdsthebodymotionless，shesawherselfdomesticatedwiththeHorror，acceptingitsperpetualpresenceasoneofthefixedconditionsoflife。
　　Thesemomentslengthenedintohoursanddays，tillshepassedintoaphaseofstolidacquiescence。Shewatchedthefamiliarroutineoflifewiththeincuriouseyeofasavageonwhomthemeaninglessprocessesofcivilizationmakebutthefaintestimpression。Shehadcometoregardherselfaspartoftheroutine，aspokeofthewheel，revolvingwithitsmotion；shefeltalmostlikethefurnitureoftheroominwhichshesat，aninsensateobjecttobedustedandpushedaboutwiththechairsandtables。AndthisdeepeningapathyheldherfastatLyng，inspiteoftheurgententreatiesoffriendsandtheusualmedicalrecommendationof“change。“Herfriendssupposedthatherrefusaltomovewasinspiredbythebeliefthatherhusbandwouldonedayreturntothespotfromwhichhehadvanished，andabeautifullegendgrewupaboutthisimaginarystateofwaiting。
　　Butinrealityshehadnosuchbelief：thedepthsofanguishinclosingherwerenolongerlightedbyflashesofhope。ShewassurethatBoynewouldnevercomeback，thathehadgoneoutofhersightascompletelyasifDeathitselfhadwaitedthatdayonthethreshold。Shehadevenrenounced，onebyone，thevarioustheoriesastohisdisappearancewhichhadbeenadvancedbythepress，thepolice，andherownagonizedimagination。Insheerlassitudehermindturnedfromthesealternativesofhorror，andsankbackintotheblankfactthathewasgone。
　　No，shewouldneverknowwhathadbecomeofhim——noonewouldeverknow。ButthehouseKNEW；thelibraryinwhichshespentherlong，lonelyeveningsknew。Foritwasherethatthelastscenehadbeenenacted，herethatthestrangerhadcome，andspokenthewordwhichhadcausedBoynetoriseandfollowhim。
　　Thefloorshetrodhadfelthistread；thebooksontheshelveshadseenhisface；andthereweremomentswhentheintenseconsciousnessoftheold，duskywallsseemedabouttobreakoutintosomeaudiblerevelationoftheirsecret。Buttherevelationnevercame，andsheknewitwouldnevercome。Lyngwasnotoneofthegarrulousoldhousesthatbetraythesecretsintrustedtothem。Itsverylegendprovedthatithadalwaysbeenthemuteaccomplice，theincorruptiblecustodianofthemysteriesithadsurprised。AndMaryBoyne，sittingfacetofacewithitsportentoussilence，feltthefutilityofseekingtobreakitbyanyhumanmeans。
　　V
　　“Idon'tsayitWASN'Tstraight，yetdon'tsayitWASstraight。
　　Itwasbusiness。“
　　Mary，atthewords，liftedherheadwithastart，andlookedintentlyatthespeaker。
　　When，halfanhourbefore，acardwith“Mr。Parvis“onithadbeenbroughtuptoher，shehadbeenimmediatelyawarethatthenamehadbeenapartofherconsciousnesseversinceshehadreaditattheheadofBoyne'sunfinishedletter。Inthelibraryshehadfoundawaitingherasmallneutral-tintedmanwithabaldheadandgoldeye-glasses，anditsentastrangetremorthroughhertoknowthatthiswasthepersontowhomherhusband'slastknownthoughthadbeendirected。
　　Parvis，civilly，butwithoutvainpreamble，——inthemannerofamanwhohashiswatchinhishand，——hadsetforththeobjectofhisvisit。Hehad“runover“toEnglandonbusiness，andfindinghimselfintheneighborhoodofDorchester，hadnotwishedtoleaveitwithoutpayinghisrespectstoMrs。Boyne；withoutaskingher，iftheoccasionoffered，whatshemeanttodoaboutBobElwell'sfamily。
　　ThewordstouchedthespringofsomeobscuredreadinMary'sbosom。Didhervisitor，afterall，knowwhatBoynehadmeantbyhisunfinishedphrase？Sheaskedforanelucidationofhisquestion，andnoticedatoncethatheseemedsurprisedathercontinuedignoranceofthesubject。Wasitpossiblethatshereallyknewaslittleasshesaid？
　　“Iknownothing——youmusttellme，“shefalteredout；andhervisitorthereuponproceededtounfoldhisstory。Itthrew，eventoherconfusedperceptions，andimperfectlyinitiatedvision，aluridglareonthewholehazyepisodeoftheBlueStarMine。Herhusbandhadmadehismoneyinthatbrilliantspeculationatthecostof“gettingahead“ofsomeonelessalerttoseizethechance；thevictimofhisingenuitywasyoungRobertElwell，whohad“puthimon“totheBlueStarscheme。
　　Parvis，atMary'sfirststartledcry，hadthrownherasoberingglancethroughhisimpartialglasses。
　　“BobElwellwasn'tsmartenough，that'sall；ifhehadbeen，hemighthaveturnedroundandservedBoynethesameway。It'sthekindofthingthathappenseverydayinbusiness。Iguessit'swhatthescientistscallthesurvivalofthefittest，“saidMr。
　　Parvis，evidentlypleasedwiththeaptnessofhisanalogy。
　　Maryfeltaphysicalshrinkingfromthenextquestionshetriedtoframe；itwasasthoughthewordsonherlipshadatastethatnauseatedher。
　　“Butthen——youaccusemyhusbandofdoingsomethingdishonorable？”
　　Mr。Parvissurveyedthequestiondispassionately。“Oh，no，I
　　don't。Idon'tevensayitwasn'tstraight。“Heglancedupanddownthelonglinesofbooks，asifoneofthemmighthavesuppliedhimwiththedefinitionhesought。“Idon'tsayitWASN'Tstraight，andyetIdon'tsayitWASstraight。Itwasbusiness。“Afterall，nodefinitioninhiscategorycouldbemorecomprehensivethanthat。
　　Marysatstaringathimwithalookofterror。Heseemedtoherliketheindifferent，implacableemissaryofsomedark，formlesspower。
　　“ButMr。Elwell'slawyersapparentlydidnottakeyourview，sinceIsupposethesuitwaswithdrawnbytheiradvice。“
　　“Oh，yes，theyknewhehadn'talegtostandon，technically。Itwaswhentheyadvisedhimtowithdrawthesuitthathegotdesperate。Yousee，he'dborrowedmostofthemoneyhelostintheBlueStar，andhewasupatree。That'swhyheshothimselfwhentheytoldhimhehadnoshow。“
　　ThehorrorwassweepingoverMaryingreat，deafeningwaves。
　　“Heshothimself？HekilledhimselfbecauseofTHAT？“
　　“Well，hedidn'tkillhimself，exactly。Hedraggedontwomonthsbeforehedied。“Parvisemittedthestatementasunemotionallyasagramophonegrindingoutits“record。“
　　“Youmeanthathetriedtokillhimself，andfailed？Andtriedagain？”
　　“Oh，hedidn'thavetotryagain，“saidParvis，grimly。
　　Theysatoppositeeachotherinsilence，heswinginghiseye-
　　glassthoughtfullyabouthisfinger，she，motionless，herarmsstretchedalongherkneesinanattitudeofrigidtension。
　　“Butifyouknewallthis，“shebeganatlength，hardlyabletoforcehervoiceaboveawhisper，“howisitthatwhenIwroteyouatthetimeofmyhusband'sdisappearanceyousaidyoudidn'tunderstandhisletter？”
　　Parvisreceivedthiswithoutperceptiblediscomfiture。“Why，I
　　didn'tunderstandit——strictlyspeaking。Anditwasn'tthetimetotalkaboutit，ifIhad。TheElwellbusinesswassettledwhenthesuitwaswithdrawn。NothingIcouldhavetoldyouwouldhavehelpedyoutofindyourhusband。“
　　Marycontinuedtoscrutinizehim。“Thenwhyareyoutellingmenow？”
　　StillParvisdidnothesitate。“Well，tobeginwith，Isupposedyouknewmorethanyouappearto——ImeanaboutthecircumstancesofElwell'sdeath。Andthenpeoplearetalkingofitnow；thewholematter'sbeenrakedupagain。AndIthought，ifyoudidn'tknow，yououghtto。“
　　Sheremainedsilent，andhecontinued：“Yousee，it'sonlycomeoutlatelywhatabadstateElwell'saffairswerein。Hiswife'saproudwoman，andshefoughtonaslongasshecould，goingouttowork，andtakingsewingathome，whenshegottoosick——
　　somethingwiththeheart，Ibelieve。Butshehadhisbedriddenmothertolookafter，andthechildren，andshebrokedownunderit，andfinallyhadtoaskforhelp。Thatattractedattentiontothecase，andthepaperstookitup，andasubscriptionwasstarted。EverybodyouttherelikedBobElwell，andmostoftheprominentnamesintheplacearedownonthelist，andpeoplebegantowonderwhy——“
　　Parvisbrokeofftofumbleinaninnerpocket。“Here，“hecontinued，“here'sanaccountofthewholethingfromthe'Sentinel'——alittlesensational，ofcourse。ButIguessyou'dbetterlookitover。“
　　HeheldoutanewspapertoMary，whounfoldeditslowly，remembering，asshedidso，theeveningwhen，inthatsameroom，theperusalofaclippingfromthe“Sentinel“hadfirstshakenthedepthsofhersecurity。
　　Assheopenedthepaper，hereyes，shrinkingfromtheglaringhead-lines，“WidowofBoyne'sVictimForcedtoAppealforAid，“
　　randownthecolumnoftexttotwoportraitsinsertedinit。Thefirstwasherhusband's，takenfromaphotographmadetheyeartheyhadcometoEngland。Itwasthepictureofhimthatshelikedbest，theonethatstoodonthewriting-tableup-stairsinherbedroom。Astheeyesinthephotographmethers，shefeltitwouldbeimpossibletoreadwhatwassaidofhim，andclosedherlidswiththesharpnessofthepain。
　　“Ithoughtifyoufeltdisposedtoputyournamedown——“sheheardParviscontinue。
　　Sheopenedhereyeswithaneffort，andtheyfellontheotherportrait。Itwasthatofayoungishman，slightlybuilt，inroughclothes，withfeaturessomewhatblurredbytheshadowofaprojectinghat-brim。Wherehadsheseenthatoutlinebefore？
　　Shestaredatitconfusedly，herhearthammeringinherthroatandears。Thenshegaveacry。
　　“Thisistheman——themanwhocameformyhusband！”
　　SheheardParvisstarttohisfeet，andwasdimlyawarethatshehadslippedbackwardintothecornerofthesofa，andthathewasbendingaboveherinalarm。Withanintenseeffortshestraightenedherself，andreachedoutforthepaper，whichshehaddropped。
　　“It'stheman！Ishouldknowhimanywhere！”shecriedinavoicethatsoundedinherownearslikeascream。
　　Parvis'svoiceseemedtocometoherfromfaroff，downendless，fog-muffledwindings。
　　“Mrs。Boyne，you'renotverywell。ShallIcallsomebody？ShallIgetaglassofwater？”
　　“No，no，no！”Shethrewherselftowardhim，herhandfranticallyclenchingthenewspaper。“Itellyou，it'stheman！IKNOWhim！
　　Hespoketomeinthegarden！”
　　Parvistookthejournalfromher，directinghisglassestotheportrait。“Itcan'tbe，Mrs。Boyne。It'sRobertElwell。“
　　“RobertElwell？”Herwhitestareseemedtotravelintospace。
　　“ThenitwasRobertElwellwhocameforhim。“
　　“CameforBoyne？Thedayhewentaway？”Parvis'svoicedroppedashersrose。Hebentover，layingafraternalhandonher，asiftocoaxhergentlybackintoherseat。“Why，Elwellwasdead！
　　Don'tyouremember？”
　　Marysatwithhereyesfixedonthepicture，unconsciousofwhathewassaying。
　　“Don'tyourememberBoyne'sunfinishedlettertome——theoneyoufoundonhisdeskthatday？Itwaswrittenjustafterhe'dheardofElwell'sdeath。“ShenoticedanoddshakeinParvis'sunemotionalvoice。“Surelyyourememberthat！”heurgedher。
　　Yes，sheremembered：thatwastheprofoundesthorrorofit。
　　Elwellhaddiedthedaybeforeherhusband'sdisappearance；andthiswasElwell'sportrait；anditwastheportraitofthemanwhohadspokentoherinthegarden。Sheliftedherheadandlookedslowlyaboutthelibrary。ThelibrarycouldhavebornewitnessthatitwasalsotheportraitofthemanwhohadcomeinthatdaytocallBoynefromhisunfinishedletter。Throughthemistysurgingsofherbrainsheheardthefaintboomofhalf-
　　forgottenwords——wordsspokenbyAlidaStaironthelawnatPangbournebeforeBoyneandhiswifehadeverseenthehouseatLyng，orhadimaginedthattheymightonedaylivethere。
　　“Thiswasthemanwhospoketome，“sherepeated。
　　ShelookedagainatParvis。Hewastryingtoconcealhisdisturbanceunderwhatheimaginedtobeanexpressionofindulgentcommiseration；buttheedgesofhislipswereblue。
　　“Hethinksmemad；butI'mnotmad，“shereflected；andsuddenlythereflasheduponherawayofjustifyingherstrangeaffirmation。
　　Shesatquiet，controllingthequiverofherlips，andwaitingtillshecouldtrusthervoicetokeepitshabituallevel；thenshesaid，lookingstraightatParvis：“Willyouanswermeonequestion，please？WhenwasitthatRobertElwelltriedtokillhimself？”
　　“When——when？”Parvisstammered。
　　“Yes；thedate。Pleasetrytoremember。“
　　Shesawthathewasgrowingstillmoreafraidofher。“Ihaveareason，“sheinsistedgently。
　　“Yes，yes。OnlyIcan'tremember。Abouttwomonthsbefore，I
　　shouldsay。“
　　“Iwantthedate，“sherepeated。
　　Parvispickedupthenewspaper。“Wemightseehere，“hesaid，stillhumoringher。Heranhiseyesdownthepage。“Hereitis。
　　LastOctober——the——“
　　Shecaughtthewordsfromhim。“The20th，wasn'tit？”Withasharplookather，heverified。“Yes，the20th。ThenyouDID
　　know？”
　　“Iknownow。“Herwhitestarecontinuedtotravelpasthim。
　　“Sunday，the20th——thatwasthedayhecamefirst。“
　　Parvis'svoicewasalmostinaudible。“CameHEREfirst？”
　　“Yes。“
　　“Yousawhimtwice，then？”
　　“Yes，twice。“Shebreatheditathimwithdilatedeyes。“Hecamefirstonthe20thofOctober。IrememberthedatebecauseitwasthedaywewentupMeldonSteepforthefirsttime。“Shefeltafaintgaspofinwardlaughteratthethoughtthatbutforthatshemighthaveforgotten。
　　Parviscontinuedtoscrutinizeher，asiftryingtointercepthergaze。
　　“Wesawhimfromtheroof，“shewenton。“Hecamedownthelime-
　　avenuetowardthehouse。Hewasdressedjustasheisinthatpicture。Myhusbandsawhimfirst。Hewasfrightened，andrandownaheadofme；buttherewasnoonethere。Hehadvanished。“
　　“Elwellhadvanished？”Parvisfaltered。
　　“Yes。“Theirtwowhispersseemedtogropeforeachother。“I
　　couldn'tthinkwhathadhappened。Iseenow。HeTRIEDtocomethen；buthewasn'tdeadenough——hecouldn'treachus。Hehadtowaitfortwomonths；andthenhecamebackagain——andNedwentwithhim。“
　　ShenoddedatParviswiththelookoftriumphofachildwhohassuccessfullyworkedoutadifficultpuzzle。Butsuddenlysheliftedherhandswithadesperategesture，pressingthemtoherburstingtemples。
　　“Oh，myGod！IsenthimtoNed——Itoldhimwheretogo！Isenthimtothisroom！”shescreamedout。
　　Shefeltthewallsoftheroomrushtowardher，likeinwardfallingruins；andsheheardParvis，alongwayoff，asifthroughtheruins，cryingtoher，andstrugglingtogetather。
　　Butshewasnumbtohistouch，shedidnotknowwhathewassaying。Throughthetumultsheheardbutoneclearnote，thevoiceofAlidaStair，speakingonthelawnatPangbourne。
　　“Youwon'tknowtillafterward，“itsaid。“Youwon'tknowtilllong，longafterward。“
　　TheEndofAfterwardTHEFULNESSOFLIFE
　　December1893
　　I。
　　Forhoursshehadlaininakindofgentletorpor，notunlikethatsweetlassitudewhichmastersoneinthehushofamidsummernoon，whentheheatseemstohavesilencedtheverybirdsandinsects，and，lyingsunkinthetasselledmeadow-grasses，onelooksupthroughalevelroofingofmaple-leavesatthevastshadowless，andunsuggestiveblue。Nowandthen，atever-
　　lengtheningintervals，aflashofpaindartedthroughher，liketherippleofsheet-lightningacrosssuchamidsummersky；butitwastootransitorytoshakeherstupor，thatcalm，delicious，bottomlessstuporintowhichshefeltherselfsinkingmoreandmoredeeply，withoutadisturbingimpulseofresistance，aneffortofreattachmenttothevanishingedgesofconsciousness。
　　Theresistance，theeffort，hadknowntheirhourofviolence；butnowtheywereatanend。Throughhermind，longharriedbygrotesquevisions，fragmentaryimagesofthelifethatshewasleaving，tormentinglinesofverse，obstinatepresentmentsofpicturesoncebeheld，indistinctimpressionsofrivers，towers，andcupolas，gatheredinthelengthofjourneyshalfforgotten——
　　throughhermindtherenowonlymovedafewprimalsensationsofcolorlesswell-being；avaguesatisfactioninthethoughtthatshehadswallowedhernoxiouslastdraughtofmedicine……andthatsheshouldneveragainhearthecreakingofherhusband'sboots——thosehorribleboots——andthatnoonewouldcometobotherheraboutthenextday'sdinner……orthebutcher'sbook……
　　Atlasteventhesedimsensationsspentthemselvesinthethickeningobscuritywhichenvelopedher；adusknowfilledwithpalegeometricroses，circlingsoftly，interminablybeforeher，nowdarkenedtoauniformblue-blackness，thehueofasummernightwithoutstars。Andintothisdarknessshefeltherselfsinking，sinking，withthegentlesenseofsecurityofoneupheldfrombeneath。Likeatepidtideitrosearoundher，glidingeverhigherandhigher，foldinginitsvelvetyembraceherrelaxedandtiredbody，nowsubmergingherbreastandshoulders，nowcreepinggradually，withsoftinexorableness，overherthroattoherchin，toherears，tohermouth……Ah，nowitwasrisingtoohigh；
　　theimpulsetostrugglewasrenewed；……hermouthwasfull；……
　　shewaschoking……Help！
　　“Itisallover，“saidthenurse，drawingdowntheeyelidswithofficialcomposure。
　　Theclockstruckthree。Theyremembereditafterward。Someoneopenedthewindowandletinablastofthatstrange，neutralairwhichwalkstheearthbetweendarknessanddawn；someoneelseledthehusbandintoanotherroom。Hewalkedvaguely，likeablindman，onhiscreakingboots。
　　II。
　　Shestood，asitseemed，onathreshold，yetnotangiblegatewaywasinfrontofher。Onlyawidevistaoflight，mildyetpenetratingasthegatheredglimmerofinnumerablestars，expandedgraduallybeforehereyes，inblissfulcontrasttothecavernousdarknessfromwhichshehadoflateemerged。
　　Shesteppedforward，notfrightened，buthesitating，andashereyesbegantogrowmorefamiliarwiththemeltingdepthsoflightabouther，shedistinguishedtheoutlinesofalandscape，atfirstswimmingintheopalineuncertaintyofShelley'svaporouscreations，thengraduallyresolvedintodistinctershape——thevastunrollingofasunlitplain，aerialformsofmountains，andpresentlythesilvercrescentofariverinthevalley，andabluestencillingoftreesalongitscurve——somethingsuggestiveinitsineffablehueofanazurebackgroundofLeonardo's，strange，enchanting，mysterious，leadingontheeyeandtheimaginationintoregionsoffabulousdelight。Asshegazed，herheartbeatwithasoftandrapturoussurprise；soexquisiteapromiseshereadinthesummonsofthathyalinedistance。
　　“Andsodeathisnottheendafterall，“insheergladnesssheheardherselfexclaimingaloud。“Ialwaysknewthatitcouldn'tbe。IbelievedinDarwin，ofcourse。Idostill；butthenDarwinhimselfsaidthathewasn'tsureaboutthesoul——atleast，Ithinkhedid——andWallacewasaspiritualist；andthentherewasSt。GeorgeMivart——“
　　Hergazelostitselfintheetherealremotenessofthemountains。
　　“Howbeautiful！Howsatisfying！”shemurmured。“PerhapsnowI
　　shallreallyknowwhatitistolive。“
　　Asshespokeshefeltasuddenthickeningofherheart-beats，andlookingupshewasawarethatbeforeherstoodtheSpiritofLife。
　　“Haveyouneverreallyknownwhatitistolive？”theSpiritofLifeaskedher。
　　“Ihaveneverknown，“shereplied，“thatfulnessoflifewhichweallfeelourselvescapableofknowing；thoughmylifehasnotbeenwithoutscatteredhintsofit，likethescentofearthwhichcomestoonesometimesfaroutatsea。“
　　“Andwhatdoyoucallthefulnessoflife？”theSpiritaskedagain。
　　“Oh，Ican'ttellyou，ifyoudon'tknow，“shesaid，almostreproachfully。“Manywordsaresupposedtodefineit——loveandsympathyarethoseincommonestuse，butIamnotevensurethattheyaretherightones，andsofewpeoplereallyknowwhattheymean。“
　　“Youweremarried，“saidtheSpirit，“yetyoudidnotfindthefulnessoflifeinyourmarriage？”
　　“Oh，dear，no，“shereplied，withanindulgentscorn，“mymarriagewasaveryincompleteaffair。“
　　“Andyetyouwerefondofyourhusband？”
　　“Youhavehitupontheexactword；Iwasfondofhim，yes，justasIwasfondofmygrandmother，andthehousethatIwasbornin，andmyoldnurse。Oh，Iwasfondofhim，andwewerecountedaveryhappycouple。ButIhavesometimesthoughtthatawoman'snatureislikeagreathousefullofrooms：thereisthehall，throughwhicheveryonepassesingoinginandout；thedrawing-
　　room，whereonereceivesformalvisits；thesitting-room，wherethemembersofthefamilycomeandgoastheylist；butbeyondthat，farbeyond，areotherrooms，thehandlesofwhosedoorsperhapsareneverturned；nooneknowsthewaytothem，nooneknowswhithertheylead；andintheinnermostroom，theholyofholies，thesoulsitsaloneandwaitsforafootstepthatnevercomes。“
　　“Andyourhusband，“askedtheSpirit，afterapause，“nevergotbeyondthefamilysitting-room？”
　　“Never，“shereturned，impatiently；“andtheworstofitwasthathewasquitecontenttoremainthere。Hethoughtitperfectlybeautiful，andsometimes，whenhewasadmiringitscommonplacefurniture，insignificantasthechairsandtablesofahotelparlor，Ifeltlikecryingouttohim：'Fool，willyouneverguessthatcloseathandareroomsfulloftreasuresandwonders，suchastheeyeofmanhathnotseen，roomsthatnostephascrossed，butthatmightbeyourstolivein，couldyoubutfindthehandleofthedoor？'“
　　“Then，“theSpiritcontinued，“thosemomentsofwhichyoulatelyspoke，whichseemedtocometoyoulikescatteredhintsofthefulnessoflife，werenotsharedwithyourhusband？”
　　“Oh，no——never。Hewasdifferent。Hisbootscreaked，andhealwaysslammedthedoorwhenhewentout，andheneverreadanythingbutrailwaynovelsandthesportingadvertisementsinthepapers——and——and，inshort，weneverunderstoodeachotherintheleast。“
　　“Towhatinfluence，then，didyouowethoseexquisitesensations？”
　　“Icanhardlytell。Sometimestotheperfumeofaflower；
　　sometimestoaverseofDanteorofShakespeare；sometimestoapictureorasunset，ortooneofthosecalmdaysatsea，whenoneseemstobelyinginthehollowofabluepearl；sometimes，butrarely，toawordspokenbysomeonewhochancedtogiveutterance，attherightmoment，towhatIfeltbutcouldnotexpress。“
　　“Someonewhomyouloved？”askedtheSpirit。
　　“Ineverlovedanyone，inthatway，“shesaid，rathersadly，“norwasIthinkingofanyonepersonwhenIspoke，butoftwoorthreewho，bytouchingforaninstantuponacertainchordofmybeing，hadcalledforthasinglenoteofthatstrangemelodywhichseemedsleepinginmysoul。Ithasseldomhappened，however，thatIhaveowedsuchfeelingstopeople；andnooneevergavemeamomentofsuchhappinessasitwasmylottofeeloneeveningintheChurchofOrSanMichele，inFlorence。“
　　“Tellmeaboutit，“saidtheSpirit。
　　“ItwasnearsunsetonarainyspringafternooninEasterweek。
　　Thecloudshadvanished，dispersedbyasuddenwind，andasweenteredthechurchthefierypanesofthehighwindowsshoneoutlikelampsthroughthedusk。Apriestwasatthehighaltar，hiswhitecopealividspotintheincense-ladenobscurity，thelightofthecandlesflickeringupanddownlikefirefliesabouthishead；afewpeoplekneltnearby。WestolebehindthemandsatdownonabenchclosetothetabernacleofOrcagna。
　　“Strangetosay，thoughFlorencewasnotnewtome，Ihadneverbeeninthechurchbefore；andinthatmagicallightIsawforthefirsttimetheinlaidsteps，theflutedcolumns，thesculpturedbas-reliefsandcanopyofthemarvellousshrine。Themarble，wornandmellowedbythesubtlehandoftime，tookonanunspeakablerosyhue，suggestiveinsomeremotewayofthehoney-
　　coloredcolumnsoftheParthenon，butmoremystic，morecomplex，acolornotbornofthesun'sinveteratekiss，butmadeupofcryptaltwilight，andtheflameofcandlesuponmartyrs'tombs，andgleamsofsunsetthroughsymbolicpanesofchrysopraseandruby；suchalightasilluminesthemissalsinthelibraryofSiena，orburnslikeahiddenfirethroughtheMadonnaofGianBelliniintheChurchoftheRedeemer，atVenice；thelightoftheMiddleAges，richer，moresolemn，moresignificantthanthelimpidsunshineofGreece。
　　“Thechurchwassilent，butforthewailofthepriestandtheoccasionalscrapingofachairagainstthefloor，andasIsatthere，bathedinthatlight，absorbedinraptcontemplationofthemarblemiraclewhichrosebeforeme，cunninglywroughtasacasketofivoryandenrichedwithjewel-likeincrustationsandtarnishedgleamsofgold，Ifeltmyselfborneonwardalongamightycurrent，whosesourceseemedtobeintheverybeginningofthings，andwhosetremendouswatersgatheredastheywentallthemingledstreamsofhumanpassionandendeavor。LifeinallitsvariedmanifestationsofbeautyandstrangenessseemedweavingarhythmicaldancearoundmeasImoved，andwhereverthespiritofmanhadpassedIknewthatmyfoothadoncebeenfamiliar。
　　“AsIgazedthemediaevalbossesofthetabernacleofOrcagnaseemedtomeltandflowintotheirprimalformssothatthefoldedlotusoftheNileandtheGreekacanthuswerebraidedwiththerunicknotsandfish-tailedmonstersoftheNorth，andalltheplasticterrorandbeautybornofman'shandfromtheGangestotheBalticquiveredandmingledinOrcagna'sapotheosisofMary。Andsotheriverboremeon，pastthealienfaceofantiquecivilizationsandthefamiliarwondersofGreece，tillI
　　swamuponthefiercelyrushingtideoftheMiddleAges，withitsswirlingeddiesofpassion，itsheaven-reflectingpoolsofpoetryandart；Iheardtherhythmicblowofthecraftsmen'shammersinthegoldsmiths'workshopsandonthewallsofchurches，theparty-criesofarmedfactionsinthenarrowstreets，theorgan-
　　rollofDante'sverse，thecrackleofthefagotsaroundArnoldofBrescia，thetwitteroftheswallowstowhichSt。Francispreached，thelaughteroftheladieslisteningonthehillsidetothequipsoftheDecameron，whileplague-struckFlorencehowledbeneaththem——allthisandmuchmoreIheard，joinedinstrangeunisonwithvoicesearlierandmoreremote，fierce，passionate，ortender，yetsubduedtosuchawfulharmonythatIthoughtofthesongthatthemorningstarssangtogetherandfeltasthoughitweresoundinginmyears。Myheartbeattosuffocation，thetearsburnedmylids，thejoy，themysteryofitseemedtoointolerabletobeborne。Icouldnotunderstandeventhenthewordsofthesong；butIknewthatiftherehadbeensomeoneatmysidewhocouldhavehearditwithme，wemighthavefoundthekeytoittogether。
　　“Iturnedtomyhusband，whowassittingbesidemeinanattitudeofpatientdejection，gazingintothebottomofhishat；butatthatmomentherose，andstretchinghisstiffenedlegs，said，mildly：'Hadn'twebetterbegoing？Theredoesn'tseemtobemuchtoseehere，andyouknowthetabled'hotedinnerisathalf-pastsixo'clock。“
　　Herrecitalended，therewasanintervalofsilence；thentheSpiritofLifesaid：“Thereisacompensationinstoreforsuchneedsasyouhaveexpressed。“
　　“Oh，thenyouDOunderstand？”sheexclaimed。“Tellmewhatcompensation，Ientreatyou！”
　　“Itisordained，“theSpiritanswered，“thateverysoulwhichseeksinvainonearthforakindredsoultowhomitcanlaybareitsinmostbeingshallfindthatsoulhereandbeunitedtoitforeternity。“
　　Agladcrybrokefromherlips。“Ah，shallIfindhimatlast？”
　　shecried，exultant。
　　“Heishere，“saidtheSpiritofLife。
　　Shelookedupandsawthatamanstoodnearwhosesoulforinthatunwontedlightsheseemedtoseehissoulmoreclearlythanhisfacedrewhertowardhimwithaninvincibleforce。
　　“Areyoureallyhe？”shemurmured。
　　“Iamhe，“heanswered。
　　Shelaidherhandinhisanddrewhimtowardtheparapetwhichoverhungthevalley。
　　“Shallwegodowntogether，“sheaskedhim，“intothatmarvellouscountry；shallweseeittogether，asifwiththeself-sameeyes，andtelleachotherinthesamewordsallthatwethinkandfeel？”
　　“So，“hereplied，“haveIhopedanddreamed。“
　　“What？”sheasked，withrisingjoy。“Thenyou，too，havelookedforme？”
　　“Allmylife。“
　　“Howwonderful！Anddidyounever，neverfindanyoneintheotherworldwhounderstoodyou？”
　　“Notwholly——notasyouandIunderstandeachother。“
　　“Thenyoufeelit，too？Oh，Iamhappy，“shesighed。
　　Theystood，handinhand，lookingdownovertheparapetupontheshimmeringlandscapewhichstretchedforthbeneaththemintosapphirinespace，andtheSpiritofLife，whokeptwatchnearthethreshold，heardnowandthenafloatingfragmentoftheirtalkblownbackwardlikethestrayswallowswhichthewindsometimesseparatesfromtheirmigratorytribe。
　　“Didyouneverfeelatsunset——“
　　“Ah，yes；butIneverheardanyoneelsesayso。Didyou？”
　　“Doyourememberthatlineinthethirdcantoofthe'Inferno？'“
　　“Ah，thatline——myfavoritealways。Isitpossible——“
　　“YouknowthestoopingVictoryinthefriezeoftheNikeApteros？”
　　“Youmeantheonewhoistyinghersandal？Thenyouhavenoticed，too，thatallBotticelliandMantegnaaredormantinthoseflyingfoldsofherdrapery？”
　　“Afterastorminautumnhaveyouneverseen——“
　　“Yes，itiscurioushowcertainflowerssuggestcertainpainters——
　　theperfumeoftheincarnation，Leonardo；thatoftherose，Titian；thetuberose，Crivelli——“
　　“Ineversupposedthatanyoneelsehadnoticedit。“
　　“Haveyouneverthought——“
　　“Oh，yes，oftenandoften；butIneverdreamedthatanyoneelsehad。“
　　“Butsurelyyoumusthavefelt——“
　　“Oh，yes，yes；andyou，too——“
　　“Howbeautiful！Howstrange——“
　　Theirvoicesroseandfell，likethemurmuroftwofountainsansweringeachotheracrossagardenfullofflowers。Atlength，withacertaintenderimpatience，heturnedtoherandsaid：
　　“Love，whyshouldwelingerhere？Alleternityliesbeforeus。
　　Letusgodownintothatbeautifulcountrytogetherandmakeahomeforourselvesonsomebluehillabovetheshiningriver。“
　　Ashespoke，thehandshehadforgotteninhiswassuddenlywithdrawn，andhefeltthatacloudwaspassingovertheradianceofhersoul。
　　“Ahome，“sherepeated，slowly，“ahomeforyouandmetoliveinforalleternity？”
　　“Whynot，love？AmInotthesoulthatyourshassought？”
　　“Y-yes——yes，Iknow——but，don'tyousee，homewouldnotbelikehometome，unless——“
　　“Unless？”hewonderinglyrepeated。
　　Shedidnotanswer，butshethoughttoherself，withanimpulseofwhimsicalinconsistency，“Unlessyouslammedthedoorandworecreakingboots。“
　　Buthehadrecoveredhisholduponherhand，andbyimperceptibledegreeswasleadinghertowardtheshiningstepswhichdescendedtothevalley。
　　“Come，Omysoul'ssoul，“hepassionatelyimplored；“whydelayamoment？Surelyyoufeel，asIdo，thateternityitselfistooshorttoholdsuchblissasours。ItseemstomethatIcanseeourhomealready。HaveInotalwaysseemitinmydreams？Itiswhite，love，isitnot，withpolishedcolumns，andasculpturedcorniceagainsttheblue？Grovesoflaurelandoleanderandthicketsofrosessurroundit；butfromtheterracewherewewalkatsunset，theeyelooksoutoverwoodlandsandcoolmeadowswhere，deep-boweredunderancientboughs，astreamgoesdelicatelytowardtheriver。Indoorsourfavoritepictureshanguponthewallsandtheroomsarelinedwithbooks。Think，dear，atlastweshallhavetimetoreadthemall。Withwhichshallwebegin？Come，helpmetochoose。Shallitbe'Faust'orthe'VitaNuova，'the'Tempest'or'LesCapricesdeMarianne，'orthethirty-firstcantoofthe'Paradise，'or'Epipsychidion'or“Lycidas'？Tellme，dear，whichone？”
　　Ashespokehesawtheanswertremblingjoyouslyuponherlips；
　　butitdiedintheensuingsilence，andshestoodmotionless，resistingthepersuasionofhishand。
　　“Whatisit？”heentreated。
　　“Waitamoment，“shesaid，withastrangehesitationinhervoice。“Tellmefirst，areyouquitesureofyourself？Istherenooneonearthwhomyousometimesremember？”
　　“NotsinceIhaveseenyou，“hereplied；for，beingaman，hehadindeedforgotten。
　　Stillshestoodmotionless，andhesawthattheshadowdeepenedonhersoul。
　　“Surely，love，“herebukedher，“itwasnotthatwhichtroubledyou？FormypartIhavewalkedthroughLethe。Thepasthasmeltedlikeacloudbeforethemoon。IneverliveduntilIsawyou。“
　　Shemadenoanswertohispleadings，butatlength，rousingherselfwithavisibleeffort，sheturnedawayfromhimandmovedtowardtheSpiritofLife，whostillstoodnearthethreshold。
　　“Iwanttoaskyouaquestion，“shesaid，inatroubledvoice。
　　“Ask，“saidtheSpirit。
　　“Alittlewhileago，“shebegan，slowly，“youtoldmethateverysoulwhichhasnotfoundakindredsoulonearthisdestinedtofindonehere。“
　　“Andhaveyounotfoundone？”askedtheSpirit。
　　“Yes；butwillitbesowithmyhusband'ssoulalso？”
　　“No，“answeredtheSpiritofLife，“foryourhusbandimaginedthathehadfoundhissoul'smateonearthinyou；andforsuchdelusionseternityitselfcontainsnocure。“
　　Shegavealittlecry。Wasitofdisappointmentortriumph？
　　“Then——thenwhatwillhappentohimwhenhecomeshere？”
　　“ThatIcannottellyou。Somefieldofactivityandhappinesshewilldoubtlessfind，induemeasuretohiscapacityforbeingactiveandhappy。“
　　Sheinterrupted，almostangrily：“Hewillneverbehappywithoutme。“
　　“Donotbetoosureofthat，“saidtheSpirit。
　　Shetooknonoticeofthis，andtheSpiritcontinued：“Hewillnotunderstandyouhereanybetterthanhedidonearth。“
　　“Nomatter，“shesaid；“Ishallbetheonlysufferer，forhealwaysthoughtthatheunderstoodme。“
　　“Hisbootswillcreakjustasmuchasever——“
　　“Nomatter。“
　　“Andhewillslamthedoor——“
　　“Verylikely。“
　　“Andcontinuetoreadrailwaynovels——“
　　Sheinterposed，impatiently：“Manymendoworsethanthat。“
　　“Butyousaidjustnow，“saidtheSpirit，“thatyoudidnotlovehim。“
　　“True，“sheanswered，simply；“butdon'tyouunderstandthatI
　　shouldn'tfeelathomewithouthim？Itisallverywellforaweekortwo——butforeternity！Afterall，Inevermindedthecreakingofhisboots，exceptwhenmyheadached，andIdon'tsupposeitwillacheHERE；andhewasalwayssosorrywhenhehadslammedthedoor，onlyheneverCOULDremembernotto。Besides，nooneelsewouldknowhowtolookafterhim，heissohelpless。
　　Hisinkstandwouldneverbefilled，andhewouldalwaysbeoutofstampsandvisiting-cards。Hewouldneverremembertohavehisumbrellare-covered，ortoaskthepriceofanythingbeforeheboughtit。Why，hewouldn'tevenknowwhatnovelstoread。I
　　alwayshadtochoosethekindheliked，withamurderoraforgeryandasuccessfuldetective。“
　　Sheturnedabruptlytoherkindredsoul，whostoodlisteningwithamienofwonderanddismay。
　　“Don'tyousee，“shesaid，“thatIcan'tpossiblygowithyou？”
　　“Butwhatdoyouintendtodo？”askedtheSpiritofLife。
　　“WhatdoIintendtodo？”shereturned，indignantly。“Why，I
　　meantowaitformyhusband，ofcourse。IfhehadcomeherefirstHEwouldhavewaitedformeforyearsandyears；anditwouldbreakhisheartnottofindmeherewhenhecomes。“Shepointedwithacontemptuousgesturetothemagicvisionofhillandvaleslopingawaytothetranslucentmountains。“Hewouldn'tgiveafigforallthat，“shesaid，“ifhedidn'tfindmehere。“
　　“Butconsider，“warnedtheSpirit，“thatyouarenowchoosingforeternity。Itisasolemnmoment。“
　　“Choosing！”shesaid，withahalf-sadsmile。“Doyoustillkeepupherethatoldfictionaboutchoosing？IshouldhavethoughtthatYOUknewbetterthanthat。HowcanIhelpmyself？Hewillexpecttofindmeherewhenhecomes，andhewouldneverbelieveyouifyoutoldhimthatIhadgoneawaywithsomeoneelse——
　　never，never。“
　　“Sobeit，“saidtheSpirit。“Here，asonearth，eachonemustdecideforhimself。“
　　Sheturnedtoherkindredsoulandlookedathimgently，almostwistfully。“Iamsorry，“shesaid。“Ishouldhavelikedtotalkwithyouagain；butyouwillunderstand，Iknow，andIdaresayyouwillfindsomeoneelseagreatdealcleverer——“
　　Andwithoutpausingtohearhisanswershewavedhimaswiftfarewellandturnedbacktowardthethreshold。
　　“Willmyhusbandcomesoon？”sheaskedtheSpiritofLife。
　　“Thatyouarenotdestinedtoknow，“theSpiritreplied。
　　“Nomatter，“shesaid，cheerfully；“Ihavealleternitytowaitin。“
　　Andstillseatedaloneonthethreshold，shelistensforthecreakingofhisboots。
　　TheEndofTheFulnessofLifeAVENETIANNIGHT'SENTERTAINMENT
　　December1903
　　Thisisthestorythat，inthedining-roomoftheoldBeaconStreethousenowtheAldebaranClub，JudgeAnthonyBracknell，ofthefamousEastIndiafirmofBracknell&Saulsbee，whentheladieshadwithdrawntotheovalparlourandMaria'sharpwasthrowingitsgauzywebofsoundacrosstheCommon，usedtorelatetohisgrandsons，abouttheyearthatBuonapartemarcheduponMoscow。
　　I
　　“HimVenice！”saidtheLascarwiththebigearrings；andTonyBracknell，leaningonthehighgunwaleofhisfather'sEastIndiaman，theHepzibahB。，sawfaroff，acrossthemorningsea，afaintvisionoftowersanddomesdissolvedingoldenair。
　　ItwasarareFebruarydayoftheyear1760，andayoungTony，newlyofage，andboundonthegrandtouraboardthecrackmerchantmanofoldBracknell'sfleet，felthisheartleapupasthedistantcitytrembledintoshape。VENICE！Thename，sincechildhood，hadbeenamagician'swandtohim。InthehalloftheoldBracknellhouseatSalemtherehungaseriesofyellowingprintswhichUncleRichardSaulsbeehadbroughthomefromoneofhislongvoyages：viewsofheathenmosquesandpalaces，oftheGrandTurk'sSeraglio，ofSt。Peter'sChurchinRome；and，inacorner——thecornernearesttherackwheretheoldflintlockshung——abusymerrypopulousscene，entitled：ST。MARK'SSQUAREIN
　　VENICE。Thispicture，fromthefirst，hadsingularlytakenlittleTony'sfancy。Hisunformulatedcriticismontheotherswasthattheylackedaction。True，intheviewofSt。Peter'sanexperienced-lookinggentlemaninafull-bottomedwigwaspointingoutthefairlyobviousmonumenttoabashfulcompanion，whohadpresumablynotventuredtoraisehiseyestoit；while，atthedoorsoftheSeraglio，agroupofturbanedinfidelsobservedwithlesshesitancytheapproachofaveiledladyonacamel。ButinVenicesomanythingswerehappeningatonce——more，Tonywassure，thanhadeverhappenedinBostoninatwelve-monthorinSaleminalonglifetime。Forhere，bytheirgarb，werepeopleofeverynationonearth，Chinamen，Turks，Spaniards，andmanymore，mixedwithaparti-colouredthrongofgentry，lacqueys，chapmen，hucksters，andtallpersonagesinparsons'gownswhostalkedthroughthecrowdwithanairofmastery，astringofparasitesattheirheels。Andallthesepeopleseemedtobedivertingthemselveshugely，chafferingwiththehucksters，watchingtheanticsoftraineddogsandmonkeys，distributingdolestomaimedbeggarsorhavingtheirpocketspickedbyslippery-lookingfellowsinblack——thewholewithsuchanairofeaseandgood-humourthatonefeltthecut-pursestobeasmuchapartoftheshowasthetumblingacrobatsandanimals。
　　AsTonyadvancedinyearsandexperiencethischildishmumminglostitsmagic；butnotsotheearlyimaginingsithadexcited。
　　Fortheoldpicturehadbeenbutthespring-boardoffancy，thefirststepofacloud-ladderleadingtoalandofdreams。WiththesedreamsthenameofVeniceremainedassociated；andallthatobservationorreportsubsequentlybroughthimconcerningtheplaceseemed，onasoberwarrantyoffact，toconfirmitsclaimtostandmidwaybetweenrealityandillusion。Therewas，forinstance，aslenderVeniceglass，gold-powderedaswithlily-
　　pollenorthedustofsunbeams，that，standinginthecornercabinetbetwixttwoLowestoftcaddies，seemed，amongitslifelessneighbours，topalpitatelikeanimpaledbutterfly。Therewas，farther，agoldchainofhismother's，spunofthatsamesun-
　　pollen，sothread-like，impalpable，thatitslippedthroughthefingerslikelight，yetsostrongthatitcarriedaheavypendantwhichseemedheldinairasifbymagic。MAGIC！ThatwasthewordwhichthethoughtofVeniceevoked。Itwasthekindofplace，Tonyfelt，inwhichthingselsewhereimpossiblemightnaturallyhappen，inwhichtwoandtwomightmakefive，aparadoxelopewithasyllogism，andaconclusiongivethelietoitsownpremiss。Wasthereeverayoungheartthatdidnot，onceandagain，longtogetawayintosuchaworldasthat？Tony，atleast，hadfeltthelongingfromthefirsthourwhentheaxiomsinhishorn-bookhadbroughthometohimhisheavyresponsibilitiesasaChristianandasinner。Andnowherewashiswishtakingshapebeforehim，asthedistanthazeofgoldshapeditselfintotowersanddomesacrossthemorningsea！
　　TheReverendOziasMounce，Tony'sgovernorandbear-leader，wasjustputtingahandtothethirdclauseofthefourthpartofasermononFree-WillandPredestinationastheHepzibahB。'sanchorrattledoverboard。Tony，inhishastetobeashore，wouldhavemadeoneplungewiththeanchor；buttheReverendOzias，onbeingrousedfromhislucubrations，earnestlyprotestedagainstleavinghisargumentinsuspense。WhatwasthetrifleofanarrivalatsomePapisticalforeigncity，wheretheverychurchesworeturbanslikesomanyMoslemidolators，totheimportantfactofMr。Mounce'ssumminguphisconclusionsbeforetheMuseofTheologytookflight？Heshouldbehappy，hesaid，ifthetideserved，tovisitVenicewithMr。Bracknellthenextmorning。
　　Thenextmorning，ha！——Tonymurmuredasubmissive“Yes，sir，“
　　winkedatthesubjugatedcaptain，buckledonhissword，pressedhishatdownwithaflourish，andbeforetheReverendOziashadarrivedathisnextdeduction，wasskimmingmerrilyshorewardintheHepzibah'sgig。
　　Amomentmoreandhewasinthethickofit！Herewastheveryworldoftheoldprint，onlysuffusedwithsunlightandcolour，andbubblingwithmerrynoises。Whatasceneitwas！Asquareenclosedinfantasticpaintedbuildings，andpeopledwithathrongasfantastic：abawling，laughing，jostling，sweatingmob，parti-coloured，parti-speeched，cracklingandsputteringunderthehotsunlikeadishoffrittersoverakitchenfire。Tony，agape，shoulderedhiswaythroughthepress，awareatoncethat，spiteofthetumult，theshrillness，thegesticulation，therewasnoundercurrentofclownishness，notendencytohorse-play，asinsuchcrowdsonmarket-dayathome，butakindoffacetioussuavitywhichseemedtoincludeeverybodyinthecircumferenceofonehugejoke。Insuchanairthesenseofstrangenesssoonworeoff，andTonywasbeginningtofeelhimselfvastlyathome，whenaliftofthetideborehimagainstadroll-lookingbell-ringingfellowwhocarriedabovehisheadatallmetaltreehungwithsherbet-glasses。
　　Theencountersettheglassesspinningandthreeorfourspunoffandclatteredtothestones。Thesherbet-sellercalledonallthesaints，andTony，clappingalordlyhandtohispocket，tossedhimaducatbymistakeforasequin。Thefellow'seyesshotoutoftheirorbits，andjustthenapersonable-lookingyoungmanwhohadobservedthetransactionsteppeduptoTonyandsaidpleasantly，inEnglish：
　　“Iperceive，sir，thatyouarenotfamiliarwithourcurrency。“
　　“Doeshewantmore？”saysTony，verylordly；whereattheotherlaughedandreplied：“Youhavegivenhimenoughtoretirefromhisbusinessandopenagaming-houseoverthearcade。“
　　Tonyjoinedinthelaugh，andthisincidentbridgingthepreliminaries，thetwoyoungmenwerepresentlyhobnobbingoveraglassofCanaryinfrontofoneofthecoffee-housesaboutthesquare。TonycountedhimselfluckytohaverunacrossanEnglish-speakingcompanionwhowasgood-naturedenoughtogivehimacluetothelabyrinth；andwhenhehadpaidfortheCanaryinthecoinhisfriendselectedtheysetoutagaintoviewthetown。TheItaliangentleman，whocalledhimselfCountRialto，appearedtohaveaverynumerousacquaintance，andwasabletopointouttoTonyallthechiefdignitariesofthestate，themenoftonandladiesoffashion，aswellasanumberofothercharactersofakindnotopenlymentionedintakingacensusofSalem。
　　Tony，whowasnotaversefromreadingwhennothingbetteroffered，hadperusedthe“MerchantofVenice“andMr。Otway'sfinetragedy；butthoughthesepieceshadgivenhimanotionthatthesocialusagesofVenicedifferedfromthoseathome，hewasunpreparedforthesurprisingappearanceandmannersofthegreatpeoplehisfriendnamedtohim。ThegravestSenatorsoftheRepublicwentinprodigiousstripedtrousers，shortcloaksandfeatheredhats。Onenoblemanworearuffanddoctor'sgown，anotherablackvelvettunicslashedwithrose-colour；whilethePresidentofthedreadedCouncilofTenwasaterriblestruttingfellowwitharapier-likenose，abuffleatherjerkinandatrailingscarletcloakthatthecrowdwascarefulnottostepon。
　　Itwasallvastlydiverting，andTonywouldgladlyhavegoneonforever；buthehadgivenhiswordtothecaptaintobeatthelanding-placeatsunset，andherewasduskalreadycreepingovertheskies！Tonywasamanofhonour；andhavingpressedontheCountahandsomedamasceneddaggerselectedfromoneofthegoldsmiths'shopsinanarrowstreetlinedwithsuchwares，heinsistedonturninghisfacetowardtheHepzibah'sgig。TheCountyieldedreluctantly；butastheycameoutagainonthesquaretheywerecaughtinagreatthrongpouringtowardthedoorsofthecathedral。
　　“TheygotoBenediction，“saidtheCount。“Abeautifulsight，withmanylightsandflowers。Itisapityyoucannottakeapeepatit。“
　　Tonythoughtsotoo，andinanotherminutealeglessbeggarhadpulledbacktheleathernflapofthecathedraldoor，andtheystoodinahazeofgoldandperfumethatseemedtoriseandfallonthemightyundulationsoftheorgan。Herethepresswasasthickaswithout；andasTonyflattenedhimselfagainstapillar，heheardaprettyvoiceathiselbow：——“Oh，sir，oh，sir，yoursword！”
　　HeturnedatsoundofthebrokenEnglish，andsawagirlwhomatchedthevoicetryingtodisengageherdressfromthetipofhisscabbard。SheworeoneofthevoluminousblackhoodswhichtheVenetianladiesaffected，andunderitsprojectingeavesherfacespiedoutathimassweetasanestingbird。
　　Inthedusktheirhandsmetoverthescabbard，andasshefreedherselfashredofherlaceflounceclungtoTony'senchantedfingers。Lookingafterher，hesawshewasonthearmofapompous-lookinggraybeardinalongblackgownandscarletstockings，who，onperceivingtheexchangeofglancesbetweentheyoungpeople，drewtheladyawaywithathreateninglook。
　　TheCountmetTony'seyewithasmile。“OneofourVenetianbeauties，“saidhe；“thelovelyPolixenaCador。SheisthoughttohavethefinesteyesinVenice。“
　　“ShespokeEnglish，“stammeredTony。
　　“Oh——ah——precisely：shelearnedthelanguageattheCourtofSaintJames's，whereherfather，theSenator，wasformerlyaccreditedasAmbassador。SheplayedasaninfantwiththeroyalprincesofEngland。“
　　“Andthatwasherfather？”
　　“Assuredly：youngladiesofDonnaPolixena'srankdonotgoabroadsavewiththeirparentsoraduenna。“
　　JustthenasofthandslidintoTony's。Hisheartgaveafoolishbound，andheturnedabouthalf-expectingtomeetagainthemerryeyesunderthehood；butsawinsteadaslenderbrownboy，insomekindoffancifulpage'sdress，whothrustafoldedpaperbetweenhisfingersandvanishedinthethrong。Tony，inatingle，glancedsurreptitiouslyattheCount，whoappearedabsorbedinhisprayers。Thecrowd，attheringingofabell，hadinfactbeenoversweptbyasuddenwaveofdevotion；andTonyseizedthemomenttostepbeneathalightedshrinewithhisletter。
　　“Iamindreadfultroubleandimploreyourhelp。Polixena“——heread；buthardlyhadheseizedthesenseofthewordswhenahandfellonhisshoulder，andastern-lookingmaninacockedhat，andbearingakindofrodormace，pronouncedafewwordsinVenetian。
　　Tony，withastart，thrusttheletterinhisbreast，andtriedtojerkhimselffree；buttheharderhejerkedthetightergrewtheother'sgrip，andtheCount，presentlyperceivingwhathadhappened，pushedhiswaythroughthecrowd，andwhisperedhastilytohiscompanion：“ForGod'ssake，makenostruggle。Thisisserious。KeepquietanddoasItellyou。“
　　Tonywasnochicken-heart。Hehadsomethingofanameforpugnacityamongtheladsofhisownageathome，andwasnotthemantostandinVenicewhathewouldhaveresentedinSalem；butthedevilofitwasthatthisblackfellowseemedtobepointingtotheletterinhisbreast；andthissuspicionwasconfirmedbytheCount'sagitatedwhisper。
　　“ThisisoneoftheagentsoftheTen——ForGod'ssake，nooutcry。“Heexchangedawordortwowiththemace-bearerandagainturnedtoTony。“Youhavebeenseenconcealingaletteraboutyourperson——“
　　“Andwhatofthat？”saysTonyfuriously。
　　“Gently，gently，mymaster。AletterhandedtoyoubythepageofDonnaPolixenaCador——Ablackbusiness！Oh，averyblackbusiness！ThisCadorisoneofthemostpowerfulnoblesinVenice——Ibeseechyou，notaword，sir！Letmethink——
　　deliberate——“
　　HishandonTony'sshoulder，hecarriedonarapiddialoguewiththepotentateinthecockedhat。
　　“Iamsorry，sir——butouryoungladiesofrankareasjealouslyguardedastheGrandTurk'swives，andyoumustbeanswerableforthisscandal。ThebestIcandoistohaveyoutakenprivatelytothePalazzoCador，insteadofbeingbroughtbeforetheCouncil。Ihavepleadedyouryouthandinexperience“——Tonywincedatthis——“andIthinkthebusinessmaystillbearranged。“