not ready to sell my soul for gold."

"Only for revenge, eh? Well, that's not much better. There are a few
scruples about thee, my promising lad, which thou wouldst find it
necessary to sacrifice in the service. Some soft-hearted mother or
sister, I imagine, hath instilled them into thee. Women are always
after some mischief. I wish there were none."

What did Delecresse know of the momentary pang of sensation which had
pricked that hard, seared heart, as for one second memory brought before
him the loving face of a little child, over whose fair head for thirty
years the churchyard daisies had been blooming? Could he hear the
tender, pleading voice of the baby sister, begging dear Piers not to
hurt her pet kitten, and she would give him all the sweetmeats Aunt
Theffania sent her? Such moments do come to the hardest hearts: and
they usually leave them harder. Before Delecresse had found an answer,
Sir Piers was himself again.

"Thou hast done me a service, boy: and I will take care that thy friend
Sir Richard feels the goad as well as my beloved Earl Hubert. Take this
piece of gold. Nay, it will not burn thee. 'Tis only earthly metal.
Thou wilt not? As thou list. The saints keep thee! Ah,--I forgot!
Thou dost not believe in the saints. Bah! no more do I. Only words,
lad,--all words. Fare thee well."

A few minutes later Delecresse found himself in the street. He was
conscious of a very peculiar and highly uncomfortable mixture of
feelings, as if one part of his nature were purely angelic, and the
other absolutely diabolical. He felt almost as if he had come direct
from a personal interview with Satan, and his spirit had been soiled and
degraded by the contact. Yet was he any better than Sir Piers, except
in lack of experience and opportunity? He leaned over the parapet as he
passed, and watched the dark river flowing silently below.

"I wish I had not done it!" came in muttered accents from his lips at
last. "I do almost, really, wish I had not done it!"

And then, as the reader knows, he went home and snubbed his sister.

Abraham could get nothing out of his son except some scornful platitudes
concerning the "creeping creatures." Not a shred of information would
Delecresse give. He was almost rude to his father--a very high crime in
the eyes of a Jew: but it was because he was so intensely dissatisfied
with himself.

"O my son, light of mine eyes, what hast thou done!" mournfully
ejacul