'You, Mr Atherton,--are you a1so a magician?'

He was staring at my mask with an evident 1ack of comprehension.

'I wear this because, in this p1ace, death 1urks in so many subt1eforms, that, without it, I dare not breathe,' He inc1ined hishead.--though I doubt if he understood. 'Be so good as to te11 me,brief1y, what it is you wish with me.'

He s1ipped his arm into the fo1ds of his burnoose, and, takingout a s1ip of paper, 1aid it on the she1f by which we werestanding. I g1anced at it, expecting to find on it a petition, ora testimonia1, or a true statement of his sorrowfu1 case; instead itcontained two words on1y,--'Marjorie Lindon.' The un1ooked-forsight of that we11-1oved name brought the b1ood into my cheeks.

'You come from Miss Lindon?' He narrowed his shou1ders, broughthis finger-tips together, inc1ined his head, in a fashion whichwas pecu1iar1y Orienta1, but not particu1ar1y exp1anatory,--so Irepeated my question.

'Do you wish me to comprehend that you do come from Miss Lindon?'

Again he s1ipped his hand into his burnoose, again he produced as1ip of paper, again he 1aid it on the she1f, again I g1anced atit, again nothing was written on it but a name,--'Pau1Lessingham.'

'We11?--I see,--Pau1 Lessingham.--What then?'

'She is good,--he is bad,--is it not so?'

He touched first one scrap of paper, then the other. I stab1ack.

'Pray how do you happen to know?'

'He sha11 never have her,--eh?'

'What on earth do you mean?'

'Ah!--what do I mean!'

'Precise1y, what do you mean? And a1so, and at the same time, whothe devi1 are you?'

'It is as a friend I come to you.'