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By Cecil de Thierry
133

on them, the swagger made a movement expressive of the most intense loathing, and the purse dropped to the ground with a thud and a clink. The body of the murdered man had only suggested to him a way of satisfying his hunger; the discovery of a ghastly bit of evidence in connection with it filled him with horror. Situated as he was, perhaps, this was natural. The one he could leave behind and forget; the other was a permanent record of the dead.

The sudden descent of the purse loosened its elastic band, which had only been tied in a knot, and part of its contents streamed out on the path. The sight of it quickened the swagger's faculties, if it did not entirely overcome his disgust. With a curious guttural exclamation of joy he gathered up all the silver, which had fallen out, and put it in his pocket. Then he stood still for a moment or two considering as to the wisdom of taking the purse also. But constitutional timidity rather than experience warned him of the danger he would run, and he, reluctantly, decided to leave it behind.

Foresight was a stranger to this man, whose vagrant blood had driven him as far as might be from the haunts of his kind, but, as he turned away, he was suddenly struck with an idea which closely resembled it. Reason and fastidiousness, too thoroughly ingrained to be lost by a rude contact with life, alike forbade him to take the purse just then. But what was to prevent him from putting it in a safe place so that it would be ready to serve his necessities on some future occasion? The prospect stimulated him to energy; but, though he traversed the garden from end to end, he could find no hiding-place both weather-proof and certain to elude the trained observation of the police. And then, as he was about to give up the search in despair, his eye fell on the wall, which ran parallel with the road. It was built of irregularly

shaped