warn you to take care and not encourage your husband in this pursuit. There is no harm done as yet, and be content with your little spoils." This may seem a little too indulgent, too complacent, to the evil practice, against which I have sworn war to the knife, to the death, and from which, with the blessing of Heaven, I shall rescue many. But such a foe it is pardonable to meet with craft like his own.
He had come back, but I saw she had grown thoughtful. It was something to do a little bit of good, even in this cheap way. I see them at night, hovering about the yawning entrance to the cave, she, with a little hesitation, whispering him earnestly, and looking in with trepidation. They do not see me. They walk away, but, alas, come back, and enter.
Chapter VI.
Tuesday.—But I must leave these minor things quite out of sight, to come to the strangest thing that has happened, the most mysterious and inconceivable. Who could have dreamt of it? And yet I am not sorry. Dora, dear, prepared for something dramatic! Let me begin calmly. Last night, after the young pair had gone in, I was sitting under the long glass colonnade of the terrace, looking down on the crowd in those gardens, lit up by the twinkling lamps, and which have such a charm for me. Along that colonnade are about a hundred little tables, all crowded with eager and lively people, sipping drinks, taking iced beer, champagne, happy winners, and more dismal losers. The waiters are flying up and down, hurrying to and fro, shouting orders; while below, among the green trees and flowers, are the crowds seated, and on the right the illuminated kiosque, with the delicious Prussian band pouring out their strains. "Ravishing" is but a poor word for these accomplished musicians, who belong to the Thirty-fourth Regiment, and are led by the skilful "chapel-master," Parlow. Their vast strength and breath of sound, their rich instruments, with every instrument made the most of, their exquisite taste, volume, clearness, distinctness, and mastery of the most difficult passages, makes their performance almost entrancing. Hear them play three overtures—William Tell, Tännhauser, and Oberon—and the musician will be amazed as well as enraptured, the marvellous violin passages of the last being performed like so much child's play—just as an accomplished pianoforte player runs up and down the keys. Hear them, too, in some fantasia on airs from L'Africaine or Faust, and revel in the taste and feeling of the solo, and the dramatic bursts and crashes, and the "hurrying" and lingering of the time, as though they were an opera orchestra. When we think of our creatures—those groups of hodmen and mechanics who form what is by courtesy termed "a military band," those mere grinders and sawyers of music, who play as though they would dig or hammer—when we think, I say, of our "crack" regiments, our Guards, formed out of the very pink of professionals, and see how mediocre is the result, one must feel a little humiliation and some envy, and should be glad to come this distance to hear those Prussians. I can hear them, too, with a safe conscience, for they do not belong to the administration.
But I am putting off this wonderful surprise. I am sitting there, listening, close, also, to the mouth of the cave, which has still for me that sense of mystery, when I hear some angry voices, and two men are coming down the steps in excitement. One is tall, and in a white Panama hat, and very excited. I hear him say, "It is always the way when I listen to your infernal talk. I'd have had a hundred in my hand now but for you. I'd like to pitch you down these steps, on your face! Go—leave me alone!"
The voice seemed familiar to me, so cold and grating, with all its excitement, that I seemed to recal it perfectly. Unconsciously I started up to be quite certain, and, on the noise, he turned and looked at me. He knew me; I knew him. His face turned livid, and a spasm of fury passed over it.
"Grainger!"
"Austen!"
He advanced towards me, and for a moment I thought he meant some violence. But he suddenly checked himself, and then walked away, down the terrace. Then, as suddenly turned back and came up to me.
After a pause, "So," he went on, "you are here. Did you know that I was here?"
"No, Grainger," I answered; "I did not."
"What, no new scheme on hand? No, I should say not; for you had better wait, my friend, until you know whether the old account has been closed."
"The only scheme I have," I answered, "is to get back some health, which is nearly gone from me."
"Ay. But do you know all that has gone from me—all that you took from me?
