sheath, and
admiringly and caressingly examined the beautiful chased and engraved
open-work steel hilt and guard, giving it a rub here and there with his
dark velvet sleeve. Then he crossed to the great open carved
mantelpiece, took hold of the point of the sword, passing the blade over
so that the hilt rested beyond his right shoulder; and, using the keen
point as a graver, he marked-out, breast high upon one of the supporters
of the chimney-piece, which happened to be a massive half-nude figure,
the shape of a heart--the figure being about four inches in diameter.
Apparently satisfied with his work, he drew back a few feet, turned up
his right sleeve, and grasping his rapier by the handle, made the thin
blade whistle as he waved it through the air and dropped gracefully at
once into position, as if prepared to assault or receive an enemy, the
enemy being the dark oak, chipped and much rubbed, semi-classic figure,
the work of some wood-carver of a hundred years before, and whose grim
aspect was rendered grotesque by the want of a nose. The next minute
the polished floor gave forth sounds of softly shuffling feet, and
stamps, as the lad, page or esquire, and evidently for the time guardian
of the ante-chamber, began to fence and foin, parry and guard, every now
and then delivering a fierce thrust in the latest Italian fashion right
at the marked-out heart upon the grim figure's breast. It was warm
work, for the lad put plenty of spirit and life into his efforts, and
before long his clear, broad forehead and the sides of a rather aquiline
nose began to glisten with a very slight dew. But the efforts were
quite unsuccessful, bringing forth softly uttered ejaculations of
impatience as the keen point of the rapier stuck into the solid wood
above, below, to the right and left, never once within the ellipse
traced out to represent a heart. But evidently under the belief that
practice makes perfect, and regardless of coming shortness of breath,
the lad kept on thrusting away, so intent upon his work that he did not
bear the faint smothered click as of a latch behind him, nor note a
white hand from one of whose fingers glistened dully the stone _en
cabochon_ of a big ruby ring.

This hand looked thin and ghastly against the dark curtain which it
grasped and held on one side for some minutes, while its owner, hidden
by the arras, seemed to be watching the sword-play of the lad. This
went on vigorously as ever even when the