"Life in death!" repeated Maurice, in puzzled tones. "And what do you mean by that mystical , doctor?"  
"Ah, my friend, there comes in the ."
 
"?" suggested David, in a jesting manner, but with some seriousness.
 
"No; that is not the answer."
 
"Catalepsy?" guessed Major Jen, giving his mustache a nervous twist.
 
"Nor that, either."
 
Maurice, whose nerves were proof against such fantasies, laughed disbelievingly.
 
"I don't believe you know the answer to your own riddle," he said calmly.
 
Etwald his shoulders.
 
"I don't know for certain, Mr. Alymer, but I can guess."
 
"Tell us your guess, doctor; as it interests me so nearly, I have a right to know."
 
"Bad news comes quickly enough in the telling," said the doctor, , "so I shall say nothing more. Life in death is your fate, Mr. Alymer; unless," he added, with a swift and glance, "you choose to the ."
 
"Can I do so?"
 
"Yes, and in an easy manner. Never get married."
 
Maurice flushed , and, resenting the mocking tone of Etwald, half rose from his seat; but without moving a finger, Etwald continued in a cold tone:
 
"You are in love with a young lady, and you wish to marry her!"
 
"Quite right, quite right!" broke in Major Jen, . "I want Maurice to marry."
 
"Then you want him to meet his fate of life in death!" said Etwald, .
 
The others stared at him, and with the skepticism of healthy minds refused to attach much importance to Etwald's mysticism. Jen was the first to speak, and he did so in rather a stiff way, quite different from his usual style of conversation.
 
"My dear Etwald, if I did not know you so well, I should take you for a ."
 
"I am no charlatan, major," rejoined Etwald, coolly. "I ask no money for my performance."
 
"So it is a performance, after all?" said David, carelessly.
 
"If you choose to call it so. Only I repeat my warning to Mr. Alymer. Never get married."
 
Maurice laughed.
 
"I am afraid it is too late for me to take your advice, doctor," he said, merrily. "I am in love."
 
"I know you are, and I admire your taste."
 
"Pardon me, doctor," said Maurice, stiffly. "I mention no names."
 
"Neither do I, but I think of one name, my friend."
 
Here David, who had been fidgeting with his cigar, broke in impatiently.
 
"Now you are making a mystery out of a plain, common-sense question," he said, . "We all know that Maurice is in love," here he raised his eyes suddenly, and looked keenly at his friend, "with Lady Meg Brance."
 
Major Jen and rubbed his hands together in a satisfied manner. Etwald his sombre looks on Maurice, and that young man, biting his lip, took up the implied challenge in Sarby's remark, and answered plainly:
 
"I am not in love with Lady Meg, my dear fellow," said he, sharply; "but if you must know, I admire"--this with emphasis--"Miss Dallas."
 
The brow of Sarby grew black, and in his turn he rose to his feet.
 
"I am glad to hear it is only 'admire,'" he remarked, slowly, "for had the word been any other I should have resented it."
 
"You! And upon what grounds?" cried Alymer, flushing out in a rage.
 
"That is my business."
 
"And mine, too," said Maurice, hotly. "Isabella is--"
 
"I forbid you to call Miss Dallas by that name," declared David, in an overbearing manner.
 
"You--you--you forbid me!"
 
"Come, come, boys!" said Jen, annoyed at this scene between two hot-headed young men, who were not yet gifted with the self-restraint of experience.
 
"Don't talk like this. You are at my table. There is a stranger" (here he bowed ceremoniously to Etwald) "or shall I say a friend, present!"
 
"Say a friend," observed Etwald, calmly, "although I am about to say that which may cause these two young gentlemen to look upon me as an enemy."
 
"What do you mean?" asked Maurice, turning his still frowning face toward this strange and enigmatic man.
 
"What I say, Mr. Alymer! You--admire Miss Dallas?"
 
"Why bring her name into the question? Yes, I admire Miss Dallas."
 
"And you, Mr. Sarby, I can tell from your attitude, from your look; you love Miss Dallas."
 
David was taken aback by this strange speaking.
 
"Yes. I--I--I do love Miss Dallas."
 
"I guessed as much," resumed Etwald, with a cold smile. "Now, it is strange--"
 
"It is strange that a lady's name should be thus introduced," said Jen, annoyed at the tone of the conversation. "Let us drop the subject. Another cigar, Maurice. David, the wine is with you. Dr. Etwald--"
 
"One moment, major. I wish we three to understand one another"--here the doctor hesitated, then went on in an impressive voice--"about Miss Dallas!"
 
"Why do you speak of her?" asked Maurice, fiercely, while David looked loweringly at Etwald.
 
"Because I love her!"
 
"You love her!"
 
The two young men burst out with the speech in tones of sheer , and stared at Etwald as at some strangle animal. That this elderly man--Etwald was midway between thirty and forty, but that looked elderly to these boys of twenty-five--should dare to love Isabella Dallas, was a thing unheard of. She so young, so beautiful, so full of divine youth and diviner womanhood; he so sombre, pale and worn with intellectual vigils; with a mysterious past, a doubtful present and a problematic future.
 
Maurice and David, divided one against the other by their passion for the same woman, united in a feeling of rage and contempt against this interloper, who dared to make a third in their worship of Isabella. They looked at Etwald, they looked at one another, and finally both began to laugh. Jen frowned at the sound of their mirth, but Etwald, in nowise discomposed, sat unsmiling in his seat waiting for further developments.
 
"Oh, it is too absurd!" said Maurice, resuming his seat.
 
"Why?"
 
Etwald put the question with the greatest calmness, stared at the young man, and waited for the reply, which he knew would be difficult to make.
 
"Oh, because--because--"
 
"Never mind explaining, Mr. Alymer. I can guess your objection. I am too old, too plain, too poor for this charming young lady. You, on the contrary, are young, passing well off, and handsome--all the gifts of fortune are on your side. Decidedly," added the doctor, "you hold the best hand. Well, we shall see who will win this game--as we may call it."
 
"And what about me?" said David. "You forget that I am a third player. Come, Etwald, you have about Maurice; now read my fate."
 
"No," said Etwald, rising. "We have talked long enough on this subject. It is plain that we three men are in love with the same woman. You can't blame me, nor I you. Miss Dallas is a beautiful excuse for our madness. I out simply because I want you both to understand the position. You are warned, and we can now do battle for the smiles of this charming lady. Let the best man win!"
 
"Nothing could be fairer than that," said Jen, quickly; "but I agree with you, doctor, that the subject has been sufficiently discussed; but, indeed, if you will pardon me saying so, it should have never been begun. Let us go to the smoking-room."
 
the three young men went in the wake of the major. It was a comfortable room, with one wide window, which at the present moment was open. Outside, the light of the newly-risen moon bathed lawn and trees and flowers in a flood of cold silver; and the warm radiance of the lamp poured out rays of gold into the wonderful white world without. The three men sat down in comfortable chairs, and the major went to get out a particular brand of cigars which he offered to favored guests.
 
Self-contained as ever, Etwald looked up at the wall near him, and seemed to be considering a decoration of arms, which looked barbaric and wild, between two oil-paintings. When Jen came back with the cigars, his gaze followed that of his guest, and he made a remark about the weapons.
 
"All those came from Ashantee and the West Coast of Africa," said he, a vicious-looking . "This is a sacrificial axe; this murderous looking blade is the sword of the executioner of King Koffee; and this," here he laid his fingers lightly upon a slender stick of green wood, with a golden top set roughly with large stones, "is a poison-wand!"
 
"A poison-wand!" echoed Etwald, a sudden light showing in his cold eyes. "I never heard of such a thing."
 
David, who was watching him, felt an feeling that Etwald was telling a lie. He saw that the man could hardly keep his seat for his eagerness to examine and handle the strange weapon. However, he said nothing, but watched and watched, when Maurice made a remark about the stick.
 
"Oh, that is Uncle Jen's greatest treasure," he said, smiling. "He can tell twenty stories about that innocent-looking ."
 
"Innocent-looking!" echoed Jen, taking down the green wand. "How can you say such a thing? Look here, Etwald," and he laid the stick on the table. "No, don't touch it, man," he added, hastily, "there is plenty of in it yet. 'Tis as dangerous as a snake bite. If you touch this slender iron projecting from the end, you die!"
 
Again David that the tigerish light leaped up in the eyes of Etwald, but he had sufficient control of his features to preserve a look of curiosity. He carefully handled and examined the instrument of death.
 
It was a little over a foot long, of a hard-looking green wood; the handle of gold was coarsely molded in a barbaric fashion round the turquoise stones, and these, of all , from green to the palest of blue, were imbedded like lumps of in the rough gold. Round this strange there lingered a rich and heavy perfume, sickly and .
 
"See here!" said Jen, pressing or rather squeezing the handle. "I my grip upon this, and the sting of the serpent shows itself!" Whereupon Etwald glanced at the end of the wood and saw a tiny needle of iron push itself out. When Jen relaxed his pressure on the gold handle, this iron tongue slipped back and disappeared .
 
"I got this at Kumassie," explained Jen, when he had exhibited the gruesome of the devil-stick. "It belonged to the high priest. Whenever he or the king disliked any man who was too powerful to be openly , they used this wand. What excuse they made I don't know, but I suppose it had something to do with fetish worship. However, the slightest touch of this needle produces death."
 
"It is poisoned at the tip?"
 
"Not exactly. The needle within is hollow, and a store of poison is contained in the handle up here. When squeezed these turquoise stones press a bag within and the poison runs down to the point of the needle. In fact, the whole infernal contrivance is modeled upon a serpent's ."
 
"But it is quite harmless now," said David, as Jen replaced the wand in its old place on the wall. "Else you wouldn't have it there."
 
"Well, no doubt the poison has dried up," said Jen, with a nod. "All the same, I shouldn't like to myself with that needle. I might die," finished the major, with the of a child.
 
 
"You may break, you may shatter the vase as you will,
But the of the roses will cling round it still"--
 
 
quoted Maurice, with a laugh. "No doubt the devil-stick can still do harm. Ugh! What a gruesome idea. I'd remove it from so a position if I were you, Uncle Jen; someone might come to grief over it."
 
"Rubbish, my boy. It has been hanging on the wall for years, and has never hurt anyone yet!"
 
Etwald said nothing. With his eyes upon the devil-stick, he deeply. The barrister, whose belief was that Etwald knew more about the wand than he chose to say, watched him closely. He noticed that the doctor eyed the stick, then, after a pause, let his gaze wander to the face of Maurice. Another pause, and he was looking at David, who received the fire of this strange man's eyes without .
 
There was something so mesmeric in the gaze that David felt uncomfortable and as though he were in an evil atmosphere. To his surprise he found that his eyes also were attracted to the devil-stick, and a to handle it began to possess him. Clearly Etwald was trying to hypnotize him for some evil purpose. By an effort of will David broke through these nightmare chains and rose to his feet. The next moment he was in the open air, in the cold moonlight, breathing hard and fast.
 
Within, Maurice and the major were talking , and the sound of their voices and laughter came clearly to the ears of David. But silent in his deep chair sat Etwald, and the burning glance of his eyes seemed to beam menacingly through the air and compel the young man to evil thoughts. David looked at Etwald, dark and voiceless; and over his head, in the yellow lamplight, he saw the glittering golden handle of the devil-stick.