Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. ’ ‘Glad you’re so sanguine,’ interrupted Captain Roding. ‘Might have forgiven him,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘if he hadn’t taken the babe. Those who had seen him slumbering, averred that he slept with his eyes open. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. ‘Bête. ” They heard a man’s voice outside. .
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