ed to a dead Englishman doubled up inside
a Saratoga trunk; whom he must get rid of, or perish from the rolls of
national glory!

I should be afraid to chronicle the language employed by this young man
to the Doctor, to the murdered man, to Madame Zephyrine, to the boots of
the hotel, to the Prince's servants, and, in a word, to all who had been
ever so remotely connected with his horrible misfortune.

He slunk down to dinner about seven at night; but the yellow coffee-room
appalled him, the eyes of the other diners seemed to rest on his with
suspicion, and his mind remained upstairs with the Saratoga trunk. When
the waiter came to offer him cheese, his nerves were already so much on
edge that he leaped half-way out of his chair and upset the remainder of
a pint of ale upon the table-cloth.

The fellow offered to show him to the smoking-room when he had done; and
although he would have much preferred to return at once to his perilous
treasure, he had not the courage to refuse, and was shown downstairs to
the black, gas-lit cellar, which formed, and possibly still forms, the
divan of the Craven Hotel.

Two very sad betting men were playing billiards, attended by a moist,
consumptive marker; and for the moment Silas imagined that these were
the only occupants of the apartment. But at the next glance his eye
fell upon a person smoking in the farthest corner, with lowered eyes and
a most respectable and modest aspect. He knew at once that he had seen
the face before; and, in spite of the entire change of clothes,
recognised the man whom he had found seated on a post at the entrance to
Box Court, and who had helped him to carry the trunk to and from the
carriage. The New Englander simply turned and ran, nor did he pause
until he had locked and bolted himself into his bedroom.

There, all night long, a prey to the most terrible imaginations, he
watched beside the fatal boxful of dead flesh. The suggestion of the
boots that his trunk was full of gold inspired him with all manner of
new terrors, if he so much as dared to close an eye; and the presence in
the smoking-room, and under an obvious disguise, of the loiterer from
Box Court convinced him that he was once more the centre of obscure
machinations.

Midnight had sounded some time, when, impelled by uneasy suspicions,
Silas opened his bedroom door and peered into the passage. It was dimly
illuminated by a single jet of gas; and some distance off he perceived a
man sl