CHAPTER XLII.
TOBIAS BACHHUBER
Ilse gently touched the head of her husband. Felix opened his eyes, threw his arms round his wife, and for a moment looked in confusion at the wild scene about him. The mist hovered like a white curtain before the opening of the cave; the first dawn of morning cast a glow on the jagged projections of the dark vault; the redbreast sang, and the blackbird piped; the pure light of day was approaching.
"Do you not hear something?" whispered Ilse.
"The birds singing, and the water rushing."
"But under us, within the rock, some strange power is at work. It stirs and groans."
"It is some animal from the wood," said the Professor; "a fox or a rabbit."
The noise about their seat became louder; something was pushing against the stone bench; it was working and sighing like a man who carries a heavy burden.
"Look," whispered Ilse, "it is coming out; it is slipping round our feet. There sits the strange thing; it has shining eyes and a glittering cloak."
The Professor supported himself on his hand and looked at the dark spot, where a small figure sat with hairy face, its body covered with a stiff, glittering garment.
They both looked motionless at the figure.
"Now do you believe in the spirits of this place?" asked her husband, in a low tone.
"I am afraid, Felix; I distinctly see the gold of the dress, and I see a small beard and a horrible face."
She raised herself.
"Are you the Dwarf-King, Alberich," asked the Professor, "and is the Nibelungen treasure concealed here?"
"It is the red dog," cried Ilse, "he has a coat on."
The Professor jumped up; the dog crouched whining before his feet. The Scholar bent down, felt a strange material round the body of the dog, and took off the covering; he stepped to the entrance and held it up in the dawning light. It was old rotten stuff, woven with golden thread. The dog, freed from his burden, rushed out of the cave with a growl. The Professor gazed long on the torn tissue, let the rag fall, and said gravely:
"Ilse, I am at the goal of my long search. These are the remains of a priestly vestment. The dog has drawn this out of some hole into which he has crept; the treasure of the monk lies in this grotto. But I have done with my hopes. A few days ago this discovery would have intoxicated me, now so dark a remembrance is attached to it that the pleasure that I might have had in what is concealed in these depths has almost all vanished."
There were loud voices on the opposite bank. Hans hallooed again through the mist; he greeted his sister and Felix who now came out from the cave on the broad rock, with the joyful news-"The water has fallen." The other brothers and sisters rushed after him and came close to the water shouting and screaming. Franz brought a sandwich in a paper, and declared his intention of throwing this breakfast over to them, that they might not starve. The children contended against this decision, and eagerly devised a plan of throwing over a piece of twine on a ball and attaching the sandwich to it. Life on the estate had again resumed its ordinary routine.
"Has Fritz come?" asked the Professor, across the stream.
"They are still at Rossau," called out Hans. "The bridge has been repaired; Mr. Hummel is up, and has gone down there."
The father also came, followed by a troop of laborers, who brought beams and planks. The men went into the water and drove a support into the soft ground, upon which they laid several slender tree-trunks across the water; the Professor caught the rope which was thrown to him. After a few hours' work a small bridge was erected. The Proprietor was the first who passed over to his children, and the men exchanged a grave greeting.
"If the men have an hour's time to spare during the day," said the Professor, "they may do one last work for me here. The hiding-place of the monks was in this cave."
In the meantime Mr. Hummel was descending with rapid steps towards Rossau. The carpenters were still working at the bridge. He cast a searching look on the spot where he had caught hold of the young Prince in the water and murmured:
"He went down like a cannon-ball. This nation has no capacity for the sea either in its upper or lower classes, – in this whole neighborhood they have not so much as a boat. Twenty years ago there was one here, it is said, but it has been cut up to boil coffee. The best thanks that one can give to this Bielstein man for the disturbance that we have occasioned him, will be to send him a boat to keep among his bundles of straw."
With these thoughts he entered the door of the Dragon; there he went up to the sleepy landlord and asked:
"Where is the young couple that arrived yesterday evening?"
"They are up stairs, I suppose," returned the latter, indifferently; "their bill is to be paid yet, if you will know."
As he was about to ascend to the upper floor, he heard a cry of joy.
"Father, my father!" exclaimed Laura, rushing down the stairs; she threw her arms round his neck, and gave vent to such warm expressions of tenderness and sorrow that Mr. Hummel at once became gracious.
"Vagrants!" he exclaimed; "have I caught you? Wait! you shall pay dearly for this escapade."
The Doctor also rushed headlong down stairs, and greeted Mr. Hummel with outbursts of joy.
"Your carriage will bring the things after us; we will go on ahead," ordered Mr. Hummel. "How did your Don Juan behave?" he asked, in a low tone, of his daughter.
"Father, he took care of me like an angel, and sat on a chair the whole night before my door. It was terrible, father."
"And how does the affair please you? So romantic! It calls forth superb feelings, and one thereby escapes the almond-cake and the unseasoned jokes of the comic actor."
But Laura pressed up to her father, and looked imploringly at him, till Mr. Hummel said:
"So it has been a cure? Then I will joyfully pay the bill of the Dragon."
They walked out of the door together.
"How did she behave on the way?" he asked the Doctor, confidentially.
"She was charming," he exclaimed, pressing the arm of the father, "but in an anxious state of mind; I was sent up on the coach-box four times that repentance overcame her."
"What, and did you climb up?" asked Mr. Hummel, indignantly.
"It gave me pleasure to see that she was so deeply affected by the unusual nature of the journey."
"'It gives me pleasure that my poodle should go into the water,' said the flea, and was drowned," returned Mr. Hummel, mockingly. "Why did you not look calmly on the anxiety of my child? It would have saved you many a bond if you had been firm with her the first day."
"But she was not yet my wife," said the Doctor.
"O, it was tolerant mischievousness, was it?" replied the father, "may you bide your time."
When they approached the courtyard, the daughter hanging on the arm of her father-which she would not let go-he began:
"Not a word to-day, now, about this abominable elopement. I have hushed up your thoughtless folly before the people here, and thrown a mantle over it, that you may be able to open your eyes; you are announced and expected as quiet travelers. We shall remain here together to-day; to-morrow I shall speak to you, in my office of father, a last word concerning your romance."
At the door the wanderers were joyfully welcomed by their friends. The Professor and the Doctor embraced each other.
"You come just in time, Fritz; the adventure which we began here years ago will conclude to-day. The treasure of Brother Tobias is discovered."
After some hours the whole party started for the cave; the laborers followed with iron crows and levers.
The Proprietor examined the block of stone at the back of the cave. At the bottom on one side he saw a hole, the same through which the dog had crawled.
"This opening is new," he exclaimed; "it was closed by a stone which has fallen in."
The large stone bench was with some exertion rolled away, and an opening wide enough for a man to creep in without difficulty became perceptible. The lights were lowered into it, and showed a continuation of the cave sloping downwards, which went many yards further into the mountain. It was a desolate space. In the time of the monks it had undoubtedly been dry, but was no longer so. Roots of trees had driven the crevices of the rock asunder, or the strata had sunk, owing to the penetration of the damp. Thus an entrance had been given to water and animals, and there was a confused mass of litter from the wood and bones. The workmen cleared it with their tools, and the spectators sat and stood by, full of curiosity. The Professor, in spite of his composure, kept as close to the spot as he could. But the Doctor could not long bear to look on. He took off his coat and descended into the opening. Mouldy pieces of thick cloth were brought up; probably the treasure had been conveyed in a large bag to its place of concealment. Then came altar covers and ecclesiastical robes.
There was a cry of joy, and the Doctor handed out a book. The face of the Professor was suffused with color as he took it. It was a missal on parchment. He gave it to the Proprietor, who now looked on with great interest. The Doctor handed out a second book; all pressed near. The Professor sat on the ground and read. It was a manuscript of St. Augustine in a deplorable condition.
"Two!" he said, and his voice sounded hoarse from inward emotion.
"The Doctor handed a third book, again spiritual Latin hymns with notes. The fourth, a Latin Psalter. The Professor held out his hand, and it trembled.
"Is there more?" he exclaimed.
The Doctor's voice sounded hollow from the cave.
"There is nothing more."
"Look carefully," said the Professor, with faltering voice.
"Here is the last," cried the Doctor, handing out small square board, "and here another."
They were two book-covers of solid wood, the outside ornamented with carved ivory. The Professor perceived at once from the style of the figures that it was Byzantine work of the latest Roman period-the figure of an Emperor on a throne, and over him an angel with a halo.
"A large quarto of the fifth or sixth century. It is the cover of the manuscript, Fritz; where is the text?"
"There is no text to be found," again replied the sepulchral voice of the Doctor.
"Take the lantern and throw the light everywhere."
The Doctor took the second lantern in. He felt with his hand and pickaxe all round in every corner of the rock. He threw the last blade of straw out, and the last remnant of the bag. There was nothing of the manuscript to be seen-not a page, not a letter.
The Professor looked at the cover.
"They have torn it out," he said, in a faint voice; "probably the monks took the Roman Emperor in ivory for a saint."
He held the cover to the light. On the inner side of one of the pieces, amidst dust and decay, might be read, in old monkish writing, the words:
"THE TRAVELS OF THE SILENT MAN."
The silent man was now drawn from his hiding-place. But he spoke not: his mouth remained mute for ever.
"Our dream is at an end," said the Professor, composedly. "The monks have torn out the text from the cover, and left it behind; there was no more room for the manuscript in the crowded bag. The treasure is lost to science. Our hand touches what was once the cover of the manuscript, and we cannot help having the bitter feeling of sorrow for what is irreparable, the same as if it had passed away in our sight. But we return to the light in possession of our faculties, and must do our duty in making available to our generation, and those who come after us, what remains."
"Was this genius called Bachhuber?" exclaimed Mr. Hummel; "judging from appearances, he was an ass."
The Proprietor laid his hand on the shoulder of his son-in-law.
"After all, you learned men have been in the right," he said, "Close the opening by the stone bench again," he said, addressing the laborers; "the cave shall remain as it was."
The party returned silently to the old house. The boys carried the books, the girls the bundles of torn monks' dresses, and made plans for drawing out the gold threads for themselves. The Professor kept the cover of the lost manuscript.
As they entered the house there was a sound of horse's feet on the other side. The Proprietor went to the door. The old Chief Forester drew in his black horse.
"I have ridden in haste through the farm to bring you news. Everything with us is topsy-turvy. We have Court Officials and Ministers, and doctors are fetched from every quarter. My people have all been sent out, and I myself have come to Rossau to order a courier. I fear his Serene Highness is very low; he knows no one. The Hereditary Prince is now awaiting the arrival of the Court physician; as soon as he gives permission the party will start for the capital. All these terrible things are owing to the unfortunate additions to my quiet dwelling. One thing more, while it occurs to me-your son-in-law is searching for old papers and books. There are some chests at our place containing such lumber of ancient times, when the ranger's lodge was still a royal shooting-box. Over the door, from under the plaster, one can discover a foreign word, solitudini, which means, they say, 'in solitude.' The chests are rotten: in the course of the building they have been moved from their place. When things become quieter with us the Professor will, perhaps, look over them."
"Then here is the Castle Solitude, with the genuine chests of the official," exclaimed the Professor. "I shall never go to that house."
The Doctor seized his hat, and spoke in a low tone to Laura and the Proprietor.
"I beg leave of absence for to-day," he said, going out.
He did not return till evening.
"In the chest there are accounts for repairs to the monastic buildings and for the estate at the end of the seventeenth century; there are, besides, some volumes of Corneille. The vicar who went to America is related to the Chief Forester."
"We have been led astray," said the Professor, calmly. "It is well that every doubt has disappeared."
"But," replied the Doctor, "there is still no proof that the old manuscript is destroyed. It is yet possible that it may come to light somewhere in fragments. Who knows but there may be strips on the back of some books?"
"On the books which the Swede has written in characters of fire at Rossau," replied the Professor, with a sad smile. "It is well, Fritz, that the tormenting spirits are forever banished."
Early on the morning of the following day a line of carriages left the ranger's lodge; the first was closely curtained-it was the prostrate Sovereign, guarded by his physicians. Before starting, the Hereditary Prince beckoned the Chief Forester to his carriage:
"Is there any other way to Rossau than that by the manor-house through the Bielstein estate?"
"Over the ridge through the wood," replied the Chief Forester; "but it is a roundabout way."
"We will take the road through the wood," commanded the Hereditary Prince. On the way he said to his attendant: "I expect from you, Weidegg, that, should occasion present itself, you will show considerate attention to the people who dwell in that house. I am the son of the sick Sovereign to whom a voice refused reception there. I shall, therefore, never again cross the threshold of that house; and I wish that you never again mention the name of that woman in my presence."
The sad procession passed close by the spot where once the lightning had struck the pine-tree. The carriages moved at a slow pace along the ridge of hills upon the forest-road.
"Drive on ahead," said the Prince; "I will walk a short distance alone."
He stepped to the edge of the hill; the early dawn tinged the dark bushes of heather with a golden green. From that same height, where once a merry party had rested, the Prince looked down on Bielstein, which stood out in the white morning mist, on the roof and balconies of the old house. Long he stood motionless; the bell sounded from the village church through the mountain air; he bent his head till the last echoes of the melancholy tones passed away; then he stretched his hand greetingly towards the manor, turned quickly back, and went along the forest-road.
The cocks crowed in the farmyard at Bielstein, the sparrows twittered in the vine arbor, and the people were preparing for the day's work. Then Mr. Hummel knocked three times with his ponderous fist at the door of the room in which his daughter slept.
"Get up, eloper," he shouted, "if you still wish to take leave of your forsaken father."
There was a noise in the room and a prattering of slippers, and Laura's head peeped through the opening in the door.
"Father, you are not going to leave us!" she said pleadingly.
"You have left me," replied Mr. Hummel; "we must have a few final words together. Dress yourself properly, and you shall accompany me down the hill. I will wait for you in the hall."
He had to wait some time for his daughter, and paced impatiently up and down, looking at his watch.
"Gabriel," he said to the servant, who came up to him in his best attire, "much misfortune arises from women's long hair. It is on that account that they never can be ready at the right time; this is their privilege by which they vex us, and it is on that account that they maintain they are the weaker sex. Order and punctuality will never be obtained unless all womankind have their pig-tails cut off on one day."
Laura glided down the stairs, clung to her father's arm, and stroked his cheeks with her little hand.
"Come into the garden, my little actress," he said; "I must speak to you alone for a few minutes. You have succeeded in eloping, you have gone through the scandal, – in what state of mind are you now?"
"Uneasy, dear father," said Laura, dejectedly. "I know that it was a folly, and Ilse says so too."
"Then it must be so," replied Mr. Hummel, dryly. "What is now to become of you?"
"Whatever you wish, father," said Laura. "Fritz and I are of opinion that we must follow your wishes unconditionally. I have by my folly lost all right of expressing a wish; if I could still venture to make a request," she said, timidly, "I should like to remain here for a short time."
"Then you wish to get rid of your seducer?"
"He is going back to his parents, and we will wait, my father, until he has an appointment at the University: he has prospects."
"Indeed," said Mr. Hummel, shaking his head. "All that would have been very sensible before the elopement; now it is too late. Your banns have been published in church, now, three times."
"The people would not have it otherwise," continued Mr. Hummel. "When it was known that you had eloped, the clergy could not avoid publishing the banns; you had not been long out of the gate when this calamity took place."
Laura stood terrified, and a burning red suffused her cheeks. The bells of the little church by the wood below sounded. Mr. Hummel took a paper out of his pocket.
"Here are those cursed old godmother's gloves; I wish at last to get rid of the trash. Here you have your dowry, I can give you nothing more; put them on quickly, that people may at least observe by your hands that this is a festive day for you. When it comes to the business of the wedding-ring you can easily take them off."
"Father," cried Laura, wringing her hands.
"You could not bear the idea of a wedding-cake," said Mr. Hummel, "so you must do without a wedding-dress, and many other things. These dramatic attitudes would have been very suitable before the elopement, now you must be married without question either immediately, or not at all. Do you think that one goes out into the world for a joke?"
"My mother!" exclaimed Laura, and the tears rolled from her eyes.
"You chose to run away from your mother, and if your father, out of consideration for these strangers, had not come, you would have had to do the business alone. You wished to escape from our homely, simple feelings."
Laura laid hold of a tree with trembling hands, and looked imploringly at her father.
"You are not so bold as I thought. Now the timid hare in you comes to light."
Laura threw herself on her father's breast and sobbed; he stroked her curls.
"Little Hummel," he said, kindly, "there must be punishment, and it is not severe; I am satisfied that you should marry him. He is a worthy man; I have observed that; and if it is for your happiness, I shall easily get on with him, but you must not immediately begin to hum and buzz if I sometimes bristle up in my way. I wish, too, that you should marry him to-day, that is now the best course for all parties. You may exercise your bridal feelings later and go through your emotions as you like. Be brave, now, my child, the others are waiting, and we must not delay them. Are you ready?"
Laura wept, but a soft "Yes" was heard.
"Then we will awake the bridegroom," said Mr. Hummel. "I believe the sacrificial lamb sleeps without any foreboding of his fate."
He left his daughter, hastened to the Doctor's door, and looked into the room. Fritz lay fast asleep. Mr. Hummel seized the boots which were standing before the door and bumped them down beside the bed.
"Good morning, Don Juan," he shouted; "have the kindness to get immediately into this leather. These are your bridal boots. My daughter Laura begs you to make haste, and the clergyman is impatient."
The Doctor sprang out of his bed.
"Are you in earnest?" he asked.
"Terribly in earnest," said Hummel.
He did not have to wait long for the Doctor. He entered the garden where Laura was still sitting alone in the bower, uneasy, like an imprisoned bird that does not venture to leave its cage. Mr. Hummel led the Doctor up to her.
"There, you have her," he said solemnly. "It is a fine morning, just like that when I set out as a boy. To-day I send my child into the world, and that is another kind of feeling. I do not object to it if you live happily together, till first your children run away from you into the world, and then the grandchildren: for man is like a bird, he takes pains and collects the bits of straw together for his home, but the young brood do not care for the nest of the parents. Thus the old raven must now sit alone and find few who will be vexed with his croaking. Take my stubborn girl, dear Fritz, and do not let her have too much of her own will. I have watched you for some time, and I will tell you something in confidence: ever since the affair of the cat's-paws it occurred to me, that in the end you would be no bad husband for this Hummel. That you are called Hahn is, after all, only a misfortune." He kissed them both right heartily. "Now come, runaways, for the others are expecting you."
Mr. Hummel walked before his children to the house; he opened the door of the sitting-room where the whole family were assembled. Laura flew to Ilse, and concealed her hot face on the breast of her friend. The latter took the bridal wreath, which her sisters had brought, and placed it on Laura's head. Gabriel opened the door. Years before the Doctor had drawn his friend from the bramble bush against the wall into the church; now he walked into the little village church hand in hand with his love, and again the children strewed flowers. When the clergymen joined the hands of the bridal pair. Ilse also clasped the hand of her husband.
"Your mother is wanting," said Hummel, to the bride, when she embraced him after the wedding; "and the Doctor's family also. But you are citizen's children, and however exalted your feelings may be you must accommodate yourself to our customs. You will go from here back to your native town. There your mothers will keep the after-nuptials, and you, runaway, shall not escape the bad poetry. You must excuse me if I am not at home on that day; I have to make a business journey, and it is not suitable to marry one's child twice in a week." He then said, in a low tone to his daughter: "between ourselves, I do not wish to peck of the same wedding-cake with the Hahn family. You are not to live with me, nor in the house over the way: – that has been advised by our friends, and I think it quite right. After the marriage feast you may travel for some weeks, and then return to your own home."
"The bridal journey you will make alone," said the Professor; "not with us. Ilse and I have determined, after a short rest, to return to the city. I have some months of the vacation still before me which I shall endeavour to make of use to a select circle of students. Among books we shall again find what we lost among strangers, – peace with ourselves, and peace with those about us."
It was about Easter the following year. Mr. Hummel and Gabriel stood dressed in festive black before the door of No. 1. Park Street.
"I was to see her, Gabriel," began Mr. Hummel, confidentially. "I took the money to her this time myself, because you wished it. I inquired concerning her of the people at the Inn and of the neighbors. She behaves with modesty, and her character is greatly changed. Much water, Gabriel," and he pointed to his eyes.
"You were kind to her?" asked Gabriel, faintly.
"As a lamb," replied Mr. Hummel, "and she the same. The room was poor, one picture only hung there without a frame, Gabriel, as a remembrance of her happy position in that house. It was a cock with golden feathers."
Gabriel turned away.
"At last the place became too moist for my dry constitution, but care has been taken of her. She is to be placed in a respectable business as a saleswoman, and as for the illegitimate Knips, the ladies will take care of him. I have spoken with Madame Hummel, and she with the Hahn woman over the way; they will arrange for the charitable collections. But as far as you are concerned, Gabriel, with all respect, – what is too much is too much."
Mr. Hummel respectfully seized Gabriel's waistcoat button, and twisted the averted face as by a screw round to himself. Then he looked into the sad eyes for some time without saying a word, but they both understood each other.
"It was a hard time, it was a mad time, Gabriel, in every point of view," began Mr. Hummel, at last, shaking his head; "what we went through with princes was no trifle."
"He was very light," said Gabriel, "and I carried him like a feather."
"That is nothing to the purpose," said Mr. Hummel; "the affair was creditable. Just think what it is to have saved a young Sovereign. That few of us can do. For a moment, ambitious thoughts came into my head-that is to say, the Chamberlain, no ill-disposed man and an old acquaintance of ours, sounded me on a delicate point when he last called."
"He also sent for me," interposed Gabriel, with dignity. "Prince Victor had commissioned him to send his respects, and to say that the Prince was to marry the Princess."
"Even this kind of householder becomes domestic," said Mr. Hummel, "that is at least a beginning. Well, the Chamberlain assured me of his Serene Highness's gratitude, made eloquent speeches, and probed me at last with a 'predicate.' Do you know what that is?"
"Hum," said Gabriel, "if it is something that is given away at that Court it would be like a colored tobacco pouch without any tobacco in it; it must be a title."
"You have hit it," said Mr. Hummel. "What do you think of Sir Court Hat Maker and Householder, Henry Hummel?"
"A swindle," replied Gabriel.
"Right, it was a weakness; but I overcame it at the right time. Then I asked this Chamberlain, 'what would you expect of me'? 'Nothing at all,' he said, 'except that you should carry on a distinguished business!' 'That is the case now,' I said. 'But what hats will they expect me to keep?' For he, who has had experience like mine, becomes suspicious, and look you, Gabriel, then the fraud came out, for what was his idea and expectation? I was in his eyes a man who dealt in straw hats. Then I thanked him for the honor, and turned my back to him."
"But," said Gabriel, "there should be some concession with regard to this matter; we are on good terms now with the people over there; and if you have given your daughter to the family, why not also an article of business?"
"Do not interfere in my affairs," said Mr. Hummel, irritably. "It is bad enough that I, as father, and in a certain degree as neighbor, have been obliged to give up my old grudge. How can one irritate oneself now, when one is obliged to have one's hand pressed here, and to drink family punch under the cursed Muse there? No, I was a weak father, and as a neighbor, an inexcusably fickle man. But, Gabriel, even the worm which is trod upon keeps its sting. And my sting is my business. There the enmity still remains. Every spring, vindictiveness; and every winter, triumph. I have lost my child and made over my money to a coxcomb, but I am still man enough to hold my own against the fellow across the way."
He looked at the empty place on the door-steps, where his dog Spitehahn formerly used to sit.
"I miss him," continued Mr. Hummel, pointing significantly to the ground.
"He is gone," said Gabriel.
"He was a dog after my own heart," continued Mr. Hummel, slowly; "and I have an idea. What do you think, Gabriel, if we were to erect a monument to him in the garden. Here near the street; there would only be a low stone and upon it a single word-'Spitehahn.' When the doors stand open one could read it across the street. It would be a memorial of the poor beast, and especially of the good time when one could pluck the feathers of a Hahn without being indicted for infanticide."
"That will not do," replied Gabriel. "What would the son-in-law's people over the way say to it?"
"The devil!" exclaimed Mr. Hummel, and turned away.
Yes, Spitehahn had disappeared from the world. Since that hour, when in the dim grey of the morning he had wound round him the golden dress of the deceased Bachhuber like a ruff, he had disappeared. No inquiries and no offers of reward had enabled Mr. Hummel to obtain a trace of him. In vain were the shepherds and laborers of the neighborhood, and even the magistrates of Rossau, set in movement-he had vanished like a spirit. The place on the steps remained empty; the blank which he had left behind in society was filled by a younger race of dogs in Park Street; the neighborhood in every walk along the street felt a satisfaction which they had long been deprived of; the cigar dealer again placed his stand near Mr. Hummel's garden; and the young ladies in white dresses, who went to the Park, gradually gave up the custom of turning away from Mr. Hummel's house, and going over to the straw side. The memory of Spitehahn passed away without regret from any; only with the old inmates of the street the remembrance of him remained as a dark tradition. Gabriel alone thought of the lost one evenings when he saved the bones for miscellaneous dogs of the neighborhood. But he did not wonder at the disappearance of the animal: he had long known that something mysterious must sometime or other happen to him.