. The stars were shining in the sky and lamps were
twinkling in the windows. The streets were almost deserted; the
citizens, wearied with the toils of the day, were eating their evening
meal, or resting on the balconies and porches. Here and there on the
surface of the swift-flowing river a huge steamer swept past, or little
ferry-boats shot back and forth like shuttles. His thoughts composed a
strangely blended web of good and evil. At the same moment in which he
reiterated his resolve to prosecute this deed he consecrated himself to
a life of tenderness and devotion to the woman whom he loved with all
the energy of his nature! Of such inconsistencies is the soul capable!

It seemed an easy matter to him to control the august forces which he
was letting loose! He was like a little child who wanders through a
laboratory uncorking bottles and mixing explosives.

Having regained his calmness by a long walk, he hurried back and reached
the open space along the river front where peddlers, mountebanks and
street venders plied their crafts, just in time to meet the doctor as he
drove up with his horses.

CHAPTER XV.

THE SNARE OF THE FOWLER

"Thinks thou there are no serpents in the world
But those who slide along the grassy sod
And sting the luckless foot that presses them?
There are those who in the path of social life
Do bask their skins in Fortune's sun
And sting the soul." --Joanna Baillie.

That evening's business was one of unprecedented success. Never had the
young orator been so brilliant. All the faculties of his mind seemed
wrought up to their highest pitch and all its resources under perfect
control. The boisterous crowd laughed itself hoarse at his humor, wept
itself silly at his pathos, and laid its shekels at his feet.

It is no wonder that such scenes and others like them have generated
both satirists and saviors, and that while men like Savonarola have been
ready to die for the redemption of such creatures other men, like
Juvenal, have sneered.

The three companions returned to the hotel and counted their ill-gotten
gains. Pepeeta was sober, David exultant and the doctor hilarious. He
pulled out the ends of his long black mustache to their utmost limit,
twisted them into ropes, rubbed his hands together, slapped his great
thigh and laughed long and loud.

"David, my son," he exclaimed, "you have the touch of Midas; g-g-give us
a few years more and we will