llapsed, and the wood broke
across the grain in so extraordinary a manner as to put the fiddle
beyond repair, except as a curiosity. Its loss, therefore, is not to be
so much regretted. Sir Edward has been brought up to think more of a
cricket-bat than of a violin-bow; but if he wishes at any time to buy a
Stradivarius, the fortunes of Worth and Royston, nursed through two long
minorities, will certainly justify his doing so.

Miss Sophia and I stood by and watched the holocaust. My heart misgave
me for a moment when I saw the mellow red varnish blistering off the
back, but I put my regret resolutely aside. As the bright flames jumped
up and lapped it round, they flung a red glow on the scroll. It was
wonderfully wrought, and differed, as I think Miss Maltravers has
already said, from any known example of Stradivarius. As we watched it,
the scroll took form, and we saw what we had never seen before, that it
was cut so that the deep lines in a certain light showed as the profile
of a man. It was a wizened little paganish face, with sharp-cut features
and a bald head. As I looked at it I knew at once (and a cameo has since
confirmed the fact) that it was a head of Porphyry. Thus the second
label found in the violin was explained and Sir John's view confirmed,
that Stradivarius had made the instrument for some Neo-Platonist
enthusiast who had dedicated it to his master Porphyrius.

* * * * *

A year after Sir John's death I went with Miss Maltravers to Worth
church to see a plain slab of slate which we had placed over her
brother's grave. We stood in bright sunlight in the Maltravers chapel,
with the monuments of that splendid family about us. Among them were the
altar-tomb of Sir Esmoun, and the effigies of more than one Crusader.
As I looked on their knightly forms, with their heads resting on their
tilting helms, their faces set firm, and their hands joined in prayer,
I could not help envying them that full and unwavering faith for which
they had fought and died. It seemed to stand out in such sharp contrast
with our latter-day sciolism and half-believed creeds, and to be flung
into higher relief by the dark shadow of John Maltravers's ruined life.
At our feet was the great brass of one Sir Roger de Maltravers. I
pointed out the end of the inscription to my companion--"CVIVS ANIMAE,
ATQVE ANIMABVS OMNIVM FIDELIVM DEFVNCTORVM, ATQVE NOSTRIS ANIMABVS QVVM
EX HAC LVCE TRANSIVERIMVS, PROPITI