they raised the stiffened body the insect flew
off into the fir wood and was no more seen.

The miserable woman did not survive many
hours. Her party lost all heart after her death,
the chief ministers of her cruelty fled. General
Blossow, instantly released, at once surrendered
the town to the Bavarian troops, who, thanks
to the Sealed Knots, were in time to garrison
Eisenherz and repulse an attempt to surprise
the town by the cousin of the duchess. Mohrart
and Beatrice were married the moment the
Bavarian rule was established and the city
grew secure.

This strange story is a true one, and is still
preserved as a tradition in the south of Germany.
The chapel on the mountain side, now
a ruin, still crowns the mountain above Eisenherz,
and the road winds on towards Schwarzstein
and the Bavarian frontier.

FATAL ZERO.
A DIARY KEPT AT HOMBURG: A SHORT SERIAL STORY.

CHAPTER VII.

THURSDAY.— I have not yet heard from
Frankfort, but they tell me here that the
merchant is away at his estates. There is no
hurry, however— nay, I should wish for a
little time to devote myself to this mission,
as I may call it. I have watched Grainger all
this day, and he has not gone in—at least I
have not seen him myself; for I must keep
to my fixed rule of not entering that cruel
spiders' net, that tigers' den. I asked him
this evening. He laughed, and would give
me no answer. "Don't expect miracles,"
he said; " you can't expect a man to reform
all at once. That little picture we made
out together last night is still going about
with me, dancing before my eyes. I wish
I could shut it out; I did so for some
years. Come in," he added, " and let us at
least look at them, as the hungry beggars
find some relief in looking into a cook-shop
window."

I shook my head. " I have made a sort
of resolution," I said, " and must keep to
it. It would be sanctioning, in some sort,
what I cannot approve."

"What rubbish!" he said, suddenly
turning on me, then checked himself. " I
beg your pardon; I have not got rid of my
old ways as yet. I wish I had had those
scruples. Talk to me now about her,
about Dora—Mrs. Austen, I mean. It's
like Annot Lyle and her harp."

These little allusions and turns of expressions
which dotted over all Grainger's
conversation, with many others that I cannot
recal, show what a cultivated taste he
had. I did not give him credit for being
so entertaining and amusing. We dined
together that day, and again we strayed
back to the old subject.

"The night," he said, "when I got that
news, is one I cannot dare to look back to.
It makes my head unsteady; you know
the feeling. Here, kellner, cognac! That's
the only thing."

"No," I said, "it is not the only thing;
it is as dangerous as the other. Forgive
me if I advise you again. I am going to
have some sherry, and oblige me by taking
some of it instead."

He groaned, laughed a little roughly, as
his habit was, and said:

"Well, I suppose so. No cognac, then.
What on earth is all this? You are making
me do things that no other man could
attempt."

"I have no power," I said, looking down.
"I am working with another charm."

He paused. "Ah, yes; I suppose that
is so."

I had already come to know the clergyman
of the place. He had sent me his
book, and I suspect some of the gamblers'
money figured there to a good amount. I
met this gentleman in the evening, and he
came up to speak to me. There was something
about him I did not like, and he had
an authoritative air which I was inclined
to resent. (I hear Dora, who believes
in clergymen to the very bottom of her
gentle heart, and, I suspect, believes that,
with their coats, shovel hats, white ties,
&c., they have come down straight from
Heaven; have a sort of angelic conformation,
wings folded up, &c.)

"I see," he said, sitting down next me
on one of the green garden chairs—" I see
you are intimate with that man here, Mr.
Grainger, or Captain Grainger, as he calls
himself. May I ask, do you know what his
character is?"

I was happy to answer him with both
facts and logic.

"The War Office also calls him captain,"
I said; " and I do know a good deal about
him."

"I am afraid nothing good, then; for it
is my duty to warn you, as a sort of temporary
parishioner, the care of whose soul
I have, that his character is very bad
indeed, and that he is not a person any one
of character should be seen with. He is a
most dangerous man. You are young and
inexperienced, Mr. Austen, and he has led
several, as young and experienced, into
mischief already. That is the reason I
speak to you."