the presence in the smoking-room, and under an obviousdisguise, of
the loiterer from Box Court convinced him that he was once more the

centre of obscure machinations.
Midnight had sounded some time, when, impelled by uneasy

suspicions, Silas opened his bedroom door and peered into the
passage. It was dimly illuminated by a single jet of gas; and some

distance off he perceived a man sleeping on the floor in the
costume of an hotel under-servant. Silas drew near the man on

tiptoe. He lay partly on his back, partly on his side, and his
right forearm concealed his face from recognition. Suddenly, while

the American was still bending over him, the sleeper removed his
arm and opened his eyes, and Silas found himself once more face to

face with the loiterer of Box Court.
"Good-night, sir," said the man, pleasantly.

But Silas was too profoundly moved to find an answer, and regained
his room in silence.

Towards morning, worn out by apprehension, he fell asleep on his
chair, with his head forward on the trunk. In spite of so

constrained an attitude and such a grisly pillow, his slumber was
sound and prolonged, and he was only awakened at a late hour and by

a sharp tapping at the door.
He hurried to open, and found the boots without.

"You are the gentleman who called yesterday at Box Court?" he
asked.

Silas, with a quaver, admitted that he had done so.
"Then this note is for you," added the servant, proffering a sealed

envelope.
Silas tore it open, and found inside the words: "Twelve o'clock."

He was punctual to the hour; the trunk was carried before him by
several stout servants; and he was himself ushered into a room,

where a man sat warming himself before the fire with his back
towards the door. The sound of so many persons entering and

leaving, and the scraping of the trunk as it was deposited upon the
bare boards, were alike unable to attract the notice of the

occupant; and Silas stood waiting, in an agony of fear, until he
should deign to recognise his presence.

Perhaps five minutes had elapsed before the man turned leisurely
about, and disclosed the features of Prince Florizel of Bohemia.

"So, sir," he said, with great severity, "this is the manner in
which you abuse my politeness. You join yourselves to persons of

condition, I perceive, for no other purpose than to escape the
consequences of your crimes; and I can readily understand your

embarrassment when I addressed myself to you yesterday."
"Indeed," cried Silas, "I am innocent of everything except

misfortune."
And in a hurried voice, and with the greatest ingenuousness, he

recounted to the Prince the whole history of his calamity.
"I see I have been mistaken," said his Highness, when he had heard

him to an end. "You are no other than a victim, and since I am not
to punish you may be sure I shall do my utmost to help. And now,"

he continued, "to business. Open your box at once, and let me see
what it contains."

Silas changed colour.
"I almost fear to look upon it," he exclaimed.

"Nay," replied the Prince, "have you not looked at it already?
This is a form of sentimentality to be resisted. The sight of a

sick man, whom we can still help, should appeal more directly to
the feelings than that of a dead man who is equally beyond help or

harm, love or hatred. Nerve yourself, Mr. Scuddamore," and then,
seeing that Silas still hesitated, "I do not desire to give another

name to my request," he added.
The young American awoke as if out of a dream, and with a shiver of

repugnance addressed himself to loose the straps and open the lock
of the Saratoga trunk. The Prince stood by, watching with a

composed countenance and his hands behind his back. The body was
quite stiff, and it cost Silas a great effort, both moral and

physical, to dislodge it from its position, and discover the face.
Prince Florizel started back with an exclamation of painful

surprise.
"Alas!" he cried, "you little know, Mr. Scuddamore, what a cruel

gift you have brought me. This is a young man of my own suite, the
brother of my trusted friend; and it was upon matters of my own

service that he has thus perished at the hands of violent and
treacherous men. Poor Geraldine," he went on, as if to himself,

"in what words am I to tell you of your brother's fate? How can I
excuse myself in your eyes, or in the eyes of God, for the

presumptuous schemes that led him to this bloody and unnatural
death? Ah, Florizel! Florizel! when will you learn the discretion

that suits mortal life, and be no longer dazzled with the image of
power at your disposal? Power!" he cried; "who is more powerless?

I look upon this young man whom I have sacrificed, Mr. Scuddamore,
and feel how small a thing it is to be a Prince."

Silas was moved at the sight of his emotion. He tried to murmur
some consolatory words, and burst into tears.

The Prince, touched by his obviousintention, came up to him and
took him by the hand.

"Command yourself," said he. "We have both much to learn, and we
shall both be better men for to-day's meeting."

Silas thanked him in silence with an affectionate look.
"Write me the address of Doctor Noel on this piece of paper,"

continued the Prince, leading him towards the table; "and let me
recommend you, when you are again in Paris, to avoid the society of

that dangerous man. He has acted in this matter on a generous
inspiration; that I must believe; had he been privy to young

Geraldine's death he would never have despatched the body to the
care of the actualcriminal."

"The actualcriminal!" repeated Silas in astonishment.
"Even so," returned the Prince. "This letter, which the

disposition of Almighty Providence has so strangely delivered into
my hands, was addressed to no less a person than the criminal

himself, the infamous President of the Suicide Club. Seek to pry
no further in these perilous affairs, but content yourself with

your own miraculous escape, and leave this house at once. I have
pressing affairs, and must arrange at once about this poor clay,

which was so lately a gallant and handsome youth."
Silas took a grateful and submissive leave of Prince Florizel, but

he lingered in Box Court until he saw him depart in a splendid
carriage on a visit to Colonel Henderson of the police. Republican

as he was, the young American took off his hat with almost a
sentiment of devotion to the retreating carriage. And the same

night he started by rail on his return to Paris.
Here (observes my Arabian author) is the end of THE HISTORY OF THE

PHYSICIAN AND THE SARATOGA TRUNK. Omitting some reflections on the
power of Providence, highly pertinent in the original, but little

suited to our occiddental taste, I shall only add that Mr.
Scuddamore has already begun to mount the ladder of political fame,

and by last advices was the Sheriff of his native town.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS

Lieutenant Brackenbury Rich had greatly distinguished" target="_blank" title="a.卓越的，著名的">distinguished himself in
one of the lesser Indian hill wars. He it was who took the

chieftain prisoner with his own hand; his gallantry was universally
applauded; and when he came home, prostrated by an ugly sabre cut

and a protracted jungle fever, society was prepared to welcome the
Lieutenant as a celebrity of minor lustre. But his was a character

remarkable for unaffected modesty; adventure was dear to his heart,
but he cared little for adulation; and he waited at foreign

watering-places and in Algiers until the fame of his exploits had
run through its nine days' vitality and begun to be forgotten. He

arrived in London at last, in the early season, with as little
observation as he could desire; and as he was an orphan and had

none but distant relatives who lived in the provinces, it was
almost as a foreigner that he installed himself in the capital of