The house next the "Golden Maid," Monsieur ?'
'Yes.'

'Rue Cinq Diamants, Quarter of the Boucherie?'
'Yes.'

'You are

'No mistake then,' the stout man answered firmly. early, that is all. You have arms, I see. Maillard!'-to the person whose voice Tignonville had heard at the head of the stairs'A white sleeve, and a cross for Monsieur's hat, and his name on the register. Come, make a beginning! Make a beginning, man.'

'To be sure, Monsieur. All is ready.'

'Then lose no time, I say. Here are others, also early in the good cause. Gentlemen, welcome! Welcome all who are for

the true faith! Death to the heretics! is the word to-night!'

"Kill, and no quarter!"

comers cried in chorus.

'But

'Death to the heretics!' the last 'Kill and no quarter! At what hour, M. le Prévot?' 'At day-break,' the Provost answered importantly. have no fear, the tocsin will sound. The King and our good man M. de Guise have all in hand. A white sleeve, a white cross, and a sharp knife shall rid Paris of the vermin! Gentlemen of the quarter, the word of the night is "Kill, and no quarter! Death to the Huguenots!"'

'Death! Death to the Huguenots! Kill, and no quarter!' A dozen-the room was beginning to fill-waved their weapons and echoed the cry.

Tignonville had been fortunate enough to apprehend the position and the peril in which he stood at the moment Maillard advanced to him bearing a white linen sleeve. In the instant of discovery his heart had stood a moment, the blood had left his cheeks; but with some faults, he was no coward, and he managed to hide his emotion. He held out his left arm, and suffered the beadle to pass the sleeve over it and to secure the white linen above the elbow. Then at a gesture he gave up his velvet cap, and saw it decorated with a white cross of the same material. 'Now the register, Monsieur,' Maillard continued briskly; and waving him in the direction of a clerk, who sat at the end of the long table with a book and an ink-horn before him, he turned to the next comer.

Tignonville would fain have avoided the ordeal of the register, but the clerk's eye was on him. He had been fortunate so far, but

he knew that the least breath of suspicion would destroy him, and summoning his wits together he gave his name in a steady voice. 'Anne Desmartins.' It was his mother's maiden name, and the

first that came into his mind.

6

'Of Paris?'

Recently; by birth, of the Limousin.'

'Good, Monsieur,' the clerk answered, writing in the name.

And he turned to the next.

And you, my friend?'

(To be continued.)

THE

CORNHILL MAGAZINE.

FEBRUARY 1901.

WIFE AND HUSBAND

TWO POEMS

MORE than thirty years ago a gifted writer, whose books are still read with pleasure, and their lessons still learnt with profit, was disabled by loss of bodily power and use of speech, whilst her intellect and memory remained unimpaired.

She had written for many years on subjects which required much thought and scientific investigation; and her constant use of the pen first paralysed her arm, and gradually affected her whole frame. All she could do for the communication of her thoughts was to point to the letters on an alphabetical card, which were then taken down by those at her side. It was thus that the following lines were addressed to her husband-himself a man of letters-who after many years of mutual happiness had to watch her gradual decline. She wrote at slow intervals, and he replied in verses which we also print.

I do not give the names of the writers, as the husband 8. vives; but it is hoped that both example and comfort may be derived from the pathetic history, the authenticity of which my own knowledge enables me to vouch.-ED. CORNHILL.

THE WIFE TO THE HUSBAND

O Death in Life, so many months of hours
Debarr'd from social intercourse of speech;
Yet keenly sensitive in mental powers

As when of old I used to talk and teach!

VOL. X.-NO. 56, N.S.

O Life in Death, in all this night of grief
To feel the chastening of a Father's hand,
And trust Him wholly, asking no relief,

Nor seeking here His ways to understand!

To sit apart, and hear the cheerful sound

Of mirth and wit from children's lips, how dear! Yet share it not, though none could there be found More apt to enjoy, or readier to cheer.

Active by nature, and by constant use,
So that an idle moment was a pain ;

Now doom'd with folded hands to sit and muse,
Each limb disabled, as if given in vain,

But then I see, as David did of old,

Each sickness sin-caused, and from mercy's rod, Which, sparing swift destruction, might enfold Even the loiterer in the flock of God;

And I believe that Thou, of faithful love,

Hast caused me all this agony and strife—

Grant I may know it in the world above,
When Life in Death has conquer'd Death in Life!

THE HUSBAND TO THE WIFE

We two who were so long as one,
Sharing the good or ill that came,
Our tastes alike, our wills the same,
Are now divided-each alone.

I see thee, but I cannot hear:

Thy voice is almost mute; thy hand
Is quite unable to command

The pen which might some message bear.

No walls of flesh imprison thee,

But failing flesh thy soul confines,

Which looks through tender eyes, and pines

For converse such as used to be.

But words repeated fail to reach
The chamber of my outstretched ear,
Whilst in thine eye a gathering tear
Acknowledges, I have no speech.'

'Tis only eye and ear are left;

No powers of speech or touch are thine;
I take thy wasted hand in mine,
And feel it of life's warmth bereft.

Yes, all is gone except the mind,

Which thinks as much as when of old
In ready eloquence it told

The thoughts which could not be confined.

O death in life, what greater gloom

Can shroud the heart than ours have felt?
The loving home in which we dwelt

Has now become thy living tomb.

Henceforth thy flesh can only be
A vesture to be cast aside-

A tattered robe which cannot hide
Thy coming immortality.

For in submissive patience shown,

In highest faith and tenderest love,
I see the tokens from above

That God has marked thee for His own.