"'Ah!' exclaimed the prince appreciatively; 'that was not so bad for a merchant; but to the point.'

"'Little can occur in this cantonment that is not known to your highness, or that cannot be determined if you so desire.

"'I ask your august assistance, and I have, as you will see, observed the proprieties in making my request.

"'It is a time-honored custom for the suppliant to signalize his appreciation of the importance of the favor he solicits, is it not so?'

"'I did not know,' replied the prince, 'that commerce could develop such an oracle; it is a subtle sense of fitness you express. I am interested.

Proceed.'

"'I will, your highness,' responded Ram Lal, as he inserted his hand in one of the folds of the sash which encircled his waist. 'You recall the stone of Sardis?'

"'Ah!' exclaimed the prince, his cynical listlessness transformed at once into the abandon of eagerness. 'What of it, O merchant?'

"'This,' replied the latter as he withdrew his hand from his sash, 'if your highness will deign to examine it,' and the speaker extended toward the incredulous prince a small box of shagreen, which the latter clutched with the grasp of avarice.

"'Will his highness deign?' repeated Ram Lal to himself with bitter irony as the prince pressed back the lid and exposed to view a magnificent sapphire, the gleam and the glitter of which affected him like an intoxication.

"As the prince, oblivious to all else, fixed his avid glance upon the scintillant stone, an astonishing change transformed the merchant from the suppliant to a being of marked dignity of bearing and carriage.

"His eyes, no longer obliquely observant, were directed with baleful purpose upon the half-closed lids of the fascinated potentate.

"His hand disengaged itself from the sash, where it had reposed with something of the suggestion of a guardian of the treasury, and was gradually extended with sinuous menace over the declining head of the prince.

"His long, lithe figure straightened from its servile stoop, and a palpable degree of the authority which appeared gradually to fade from the fine countenance before him found an equally congenial residence in the expression of the merchant.

"There was command in every feature.

"As for the prince, his figure appeared to decline in majesty in proportion to the access of dignity which had added its unwonted emphasis to the personality of Ram Lal.

"He leaned inertly forward, one hand resting upon his knee.

"In his slowly relaxing clutch the brilliant gleamed. His forehead was moist; his lips dry; his delicate nostrils were indrawn in harmony with the concentrating lines of his brow, and the next moment, as if in response to an insinuating pass of the merchant's hand of cobra-like undulation, the rigid poise recoiled, he settled more easily upon the divan, and with eyes still fascinated by the entrancing bauble he listened, with anomalous impassiveness, to the weird proposal of Ram Lal.

"'Hearken, O prince!

"'My daughter has been taken from me by whom I shall not venture to inquire.

"'If she is returned to me, I shall be satisfied.

"'I am here therefore to beseech your highness to see that she is restored to me.

"'To-day, as the sun declines, I shall expect her.

"'If she does not come to me then, O prince, a heaping handful of the precious stones you hold so dearly will be missing, and in their stead will be as many pebbles from the fountain in the courtyard.

"'The sapphire I leave with you as a witness of my plea.'

"And slowly the merchant retreated toward the door, his eyes fastened the while upon the prince.

"As he reached the threshold he paused, and with a voice that seemed to lodge in the consciousness of his inert auditor like the sigh of Auster over the daffodils and buttercups of a dream, he repeated:

"'_To-day as the sun declines._'

"And the next instant, with an abrupt motion of his hand strangely at variance with the placid gestures just preceding, the merchant disappeared through the curtains which screened the doorway.

"And now," said the Sepoy abruptly, as he moved his chair with a sharp rasp over the bare floor and transferred his glance at the same time from the drawn countenance of his rapt auditor to the gleaming gem on the table, "and now--is it not a beauty?"

"Ah, ha!" murmured Raikes, disturbed by the abrupt cessation of the sedative tones of the Sepoy and the abrasion of the chair, "superb!" And that instant all his keen animation returned.

Apparently Raikes was not aware of any blanks in his scrutiny and resumed his regard of the tantalizing facets with knowing sagacity and an envy that affected him like a hurt.

"In all my years," he creaked, as his long, prehensile fingers riveted like a setting to the fascinating bauble, "I have never seen such a gem.

"The cutting is exquisite; it is a study in intelligent execution; every facet here cost a pang; how vital it was not to waste an atom of this precious bulk.

"What a delicate adjustment of the lines of beauty to the material consideration; the balance is perfect." And with this confusion of frank cupidity and rapacious regard, the miser, with a supreme effort, pushed the stone impatiently toward the Sepoy.

"Ah!" exclaimed the latter, "it is a pleasure to show the gem to one who is able to comprehend it.

"It is even finer than you have discerned. The lapidary was subtle; his work sustains closer analysis. Have you a stray glass?

"No? Well, I will send you mine and you can entertain yourself until I see you again."

"What!" exclaimed Raikes, "you will leave this stone with me?"

"Why not?" returned the Sepoy evenly. "You have a due regard for property. I do not fear that this gem will meet with mishap in your possession. Besides, it will be a revelation to you under the glass,"

and, arising, he stepped to the door, leaving the brilliant upon the table in the grasp of the astonished Raikes, who was unable to comprehend such confidence and unconcern.

Traversing the hallway, the pair reached the door which opened upon the apartments controlled by the widow.

As he paused on the threshold to make his adieux to Raikes, the Sepoy, looking at the former with a marvelously glowing glance, repeated, with an emphasis so eerie as to occasion a thrill of vague uneasiness in his companion, the concluding phrase of the singular tale he had related to Raikes:

"_To-day as the sun declines._"

And the moment after he disappeared, leaving the startled miser to gaze, with greedy contemplation, upon the sapphire which he retained in his grasp.

(To be continued on Dickey No. 3.)

"Oh, ho!" exclaimed Dennis as the exasperating phrase in italics met his glance, "an' it's here you are again. Shure, a man would tear his shirt to tatters for a tale like that," and with appreciative meditation over the vexatious quandary presented by the cunning of the bosom-maker in thus adding another ruinous possibility to the inevitable soil and wear, he added:

"Shure, the man who put that sthory on the dickey-back knew his business. Where the dirt laves off the guessin' begins, and betwixt the two it's another dickey I'll be after--ah, ha, an' it's a fine thing to have brains like that."

With this discerning tribute, Dennis turned the last dickey around and discovered that it was protected in the rear with a sort of oiled paper, through which the story shadowed dimly.

Here was the pinch of his dilemma.