I checked myself abruptly, somewhat startled, and listened. Rain poured outside, and the wind shrieked like a petulant shrew,—the violinist next door was practising a brilliant roulade up and down his instrument,—but there were no other sounds than these. Yet I could have sworn I heard a man's deep-chested laughter close behind me where I stood.

"It must have been my fancy," I murmured, turning the flame of the lamp up higher in order to obtain more light in the room—"I am nervous I suppose,—no wonder! Poor Boffles!—good old chap!" I continued, remembering my friend's draft for fifty pounds, which had seemed such a godsend a few minutes since—" What a surprise is in store for you! You shall have your loan back as promptly as you sent it, with an extra fifty added by way of interest for your generosity. And as for the new Maecenas you are sending to help me over my difficulties,—well, he may be a very excellent old gentleman, but he will find himself quite out of his element this time. I want neither assistance nor advice nor patronage—I can buy them all! Titles, honours, possessions, —they are all purchasable,—love, friendship, position,—they are all for sale in this admirably commercial age and go to the highest bidder! By my soul!—the wealthy 'philanthropist' will find it difficult to match me in power! He will scarcely have more than five millions to waste, I warrant! And now for supper,—I shall have to live on credit till I get some ready cash,—and there is no reason why I should not leave this wretched hole at once and go to one of the best hotels and swagger it!"

I was about to leave the room on the swift impulse of excitement and joy, when a fresh and violent gust of wind roared down the chimney, bringing with it a shower of soot which fell in a black heap on my rejected manuscript where it lay forgotten on the floor as I had despairingly thrown it. I hastily picked it up and shook it free from the noisome dirt, wondering as I did so, what would be its fate now ?— now, when I could afford to publish it myself, and not only publish it but advertise it, and not only advertise it but' push' it, in all the crafty and cautious ways known to the inner circles of 'booming.' I smiled as I thought of the vengeance I would take on all those who had scorned and slighted me and my labour,—how they should cower before me !—how they should fawn at my feet like whipt curs and whine their fulsome adulation! Every stiff and stubborn neck should bend before me; this I resolved upon; for though money does not always conquer everything, it only fails when it is money apart from brains. Brains and money together can move the world,—brains can very frequently do this aloiid I without money, of which serious and proved fact those who) I have no brains should beware! *"Full of ambitious thought, I now and then caught wild

sounds from the violin that was being played next door,— notes like sobbing cries of pain, and anon rippling runs like a careless woman's laughter,—and all at once I remembered I had not yet opened the third letter addressed to me,— the one coroneted in scarlet and gold, which had remained where it was on the table almost unnoticed till now. I took it up and turned it over with an odd sense of reluctance in my fingers, which were slow at the work of tearing the thick envelope asunder. Drawing out an equally thick small sheet of notepaper also coroneted, I read the following lines written in an admirably legible, small and picturesque hand.

Dear Sir.

I am the bearer of a letter of introduction to you from your former college companion Mr John Carrington, now of Melbourne, who has been good enough to thus give me the means of making the acquaintance of one, who, I understand, is more than exceptionally endowed with the gift of literary genius. I shall call upon you this evening between eight and nine o'clock, trusting to find you at home and disengaged. I enclose my card, and present address, and beg to remain,

Very faithfully yours

Lucio Rimanez.

The card mentioned dropped on the table as I finished reading the note. It bore a small exquisitely engraved coronet and the words

Prince Lucio Rimanez, while, scribbled lightly in pencil underneath was the address 'Grand Hotel.'

I read the brief letter through again,—it was simple enough, —expressed with clearness and civility. There was nothing remarkable about it,—nothing whatever; yet it seemed to me surcharged with meaning. Why, I could not imagine. A curious fascination kept my eyes fastened on the characteristic bold handwriting, and made me fancy I should like the man who penned it. How the wind roared!—and how that violin next door wailed like the restless spirit of some forgotten musician in torment! My brain swam and my heart ached heavily,—the drip drip of the rain outside sounded like the stealthy footfall of some secret spy upon my movements. I grew irritable and nervous,—a foreboding of evil somehow darkened the bright consciousness of my sudden good fortune. Then an impulse of shame possessed me,— shame that this foreign prince, if such he were, with limitless wealth at his back, should be coming to visit me,—me, now a millionaire,—in my present wretched lodging. Already, before I had touched my riches, I was tainted by the miserable vulgarity of seeking to pretend I had never been really poor, but only embarrassed by a little temporary difficulty! If I had had a sixpence about me, (which I had not) I should have sent a telegram to my approaching visitor to put him off.

"But in any case," I said aloud, addressing myself to the empty room and the storm-echoes—"I will not meet him tonight. I'll go out and leave no message,—and if he comes he will think I have not yet had his letter. I can make an appointment to see him when I am better lodged, and dressed more in keeping with my present position,—in the meantime, nothing is easier than to keep out of this would-be benefactor's way."

As I spoke, the flickering lamp gave a dismal crackle and went out, leaving me in pitch darkness. With an exclamation more strong than reverent, I groped about the room for matches, or failing them, for my hat and coat,—and I was still engaged in a fruitless and annoying search, when I caught a sound of galloping horses' hoofs coming to an abrupt stop in the street below. Surrounded by black gloom, I paused and listened. There was a slight commotion in the basement,—I heard my landlady's accents attuned to nervous civility, mingling with the mellow tones of a deep masculine voice,—then steps, firm and even, ascended the stairs to my landing.

"The devil is in it!" I muttered vexedly—" Just like my wayward luck!—here comes the very man I intended to avoid!"

 

Chapter 3

 

The door opened,—and from the dense obscurity enshrouding me I could just perceive a tall shadowy figure standing on the threshold. I remember well the curious impression the mere outline of this scarcely discerned form made upon me even then, suggesting at the first glance such a. stately majesty of height and bearing as at once riveted my attention,—so much so indeed that I scarcely heard my landlady's introductory words "A gentleman to see you, sir," —words that were quickly interrupted by a murmur of dismay at finding the room in total darkness. "Well to be sure! The lamp must have gone out!" she exclaimed,—then addressing the personage she had ushered thus far, she added— "I'm afraid Mr. Tempest isn't in after all, sir, though I certainly saw him about half-an-hour ago. If you don't mind waiting here a minute I'll fetch a light and see if he has left any message on his table."

She hurried away, and though I knew that of course I ought to speak, a singular and quite inexplicable perversity of humour kept me silent and unwilling to declare my presence. Meanwhile the tall stranger advanced a pace or two, and a rich voice with a ring of ironical amusement in it called me by my name—

"Geoffrey Tempest, are you there?"

Why could I not answer? The strangest and most unnatural obstinacy stiffened my tongue,—and, concealed in the gloom of my forlorn literary den I still held my peace. The majestic figure drew nearer, till in height and breadth it seemed to suddenly overshadow me, and once again the voice called—

"Geoffrey Tempest, are you there?"

For very shame's sake I could hold out no longer,—and with a determined effort I broke the extraordinary dumb spell that had held me like a coward in silent hiding, and came forward boldly to confront my visitor.

"Yes I am here," I said—" And being here I am ashamed to give you such a welcome as this. You are Prince Rimanez of course;—I have just read your note, which prepared me for your visit, but I was hoping that my landlady, finding the room in darkness, would conclude I was out, and show you downstairs again. You see I am perfectly frank!"

"You are indeed!" returned the stranger, his deep tones still vibrating with the silvery clang of veiled satire—" So frank that I cannot fail to understand you. Briefly, and without courtesy, you resent my visit this evening and wish I had not come!"

This open declaration of my mood sounded so brusque that I made haste to deny it though I knew it to be true.