oing at me. And this royal Richard, shaped `so
lamely and unfashionable,' made court to a woman, whose husband he had
just assassinated--more than a woman, a proud queen--and more than
wooed, he subdued her. This ought to encourage me; the better that I,
Richard Darke, am neither halt, nor hunchbacked. No, nor yet
unfashionable, as many a Mississippian girl says, and more than one is
ready to swear.

"Proud Helen Armstrong may be, and is; proud as England's queen herself.
For all that, I've got something to subdue her--a scheme, cunning as
that of my royal namesake. May God, or the Devil, grant me like
success!"

At the moment of giving utterance to the profane prayer, he rises to his
feet. Then, taking out his watch, consults it.

It is too dark for him to see the dial; but springing open the glass, he
gropes against it, feeling for the hands.

"Half-past nine," he mutters, after making out the time. "Ten is the
hour of her assignation. No chance for me to get home before, and then
over to Armstrong's wood-ground. It's more than two miles from here.
What matters my going home? Nor any need changing this dress. She
won't notice the hole in the skirt. If she do, she wouldn't think of
what caused it--above all it's being a bullet. Well, I must be off! It
will never do to keep the young lady waiting. If she don't feel
disappointed at seeing me, bless her! If she do, I shall curse her!
What's passed prepares me for either event. In any case, I shall have
satisfaction for the slight she's put upon me. By God I'll get that!"

He is moving away, when a thought occurs staying him. He is not quite
certain about the exact hour of Helen Armstrong's tryst, conveyed in her
letter to Clancy. In the madness of his mind ever since perusing that
epistle, no wonder he should confuse circumstances, and forget dates.

To make sure, he plunges his hand into the pocket, where he deposited
both letter and photograph--after holding the latter before the eyes of
his dying foeman, and witnessing the fatal effect. With all his
diabolical hardihood, he had been awed by this--so as to thrust the
papers into his pocket, hastily, carelessly.

They are no longer there!

He searches in his other pockets--in all of them, with like result. He
examines his bullet-pouch and gamebag. But finds no letter, no
photograph, not a scrap of paper, in any! The stolen epistle, its
envelope, the enclosed _carte de visite_--all are abse