wife, or children—with a wife whom I should
leave a widow—with children whom I should
leave fatherless? What have I to do with
settling—with comfort, or a home?

"'I shall have a home when the pistol-bullet
sends me to my grave beside my friend.

"'I shall go home then,' said the German
locksmith."

CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.

"So much," continued the narrator of this
sad story, "for what I learnt from my friend
the surgeon concerning the past life of the
singular man by whose appearance I had been so
powerfully struck. Of the remaining portion of
his history the particulars came under my own
knowledge, and with the circumstances of its
termination I myself was to a certain extent
mixed up.

"My revolver was sent back to me repaired,
and as I was just about to start away on a short
journey into the environs, and was in some haste,
I set off without trying it.

"In the course of the day, however, partly
wishing to ascertain how far my pistol was
restored to a condition of usefulness, partly from
a desire to bring down a bird which I saw on
the wing, apparently within pistol-shot, I lifted
my revolver to let fly at him.

"The weapon missed fire.

"On examination, I found that the defect this
time was precisely the reverse of what it had
been before. The lock went so loosely now,
and had so little spring in it, that the hammer
did not fall upon the cap with sufficient force to
explode it. I tried the pistol several times, and
finding it useless, sent it again, on my return to
Jerusalem, to the German locksmith, charging
my servant to explain to him its new defect, and
above all things to caution him as to its being
loaded, as I had done myself on the former
occasion.

"Mark how that pistol played with the man's
life! Mark how it returns to him again and
again! Why not have done its work at once?

"The revolver was brought back to me the
next day in a state, as I was told, of perfect
repair.

"This time I took it into the garden to try
it. The first time it went off well enough, but
at the next time—for I was determined to prove
it thoroughly—I found that its original defect
had returned, and the lock would not stir, pull
at the trigger as I might.

"'There is something radically wrong here,'
I said. 'I will go myself and see the German
locksmith about it, without delay.'

"'That pistol again,' said the locksmith, looking
up, as I entered his miserable abode.

"What would I not have given to have been
able to say anything that would have altered the
expression of that haggard countenance. But it
was impossible. I made some attempts to draw
the poor fellow into conversation, though I felt
that even if these had not proved (as they did)
wholly useless, my comparative ignorance of his
language would have stood in the way of my
saying anything that could have been of any
service. Our conversation, then, limited itself
to the matter in hand, and we agreed that the
only thing to be done with the pistol now was
to take its lock off, and make a perfectly new
one in imitation of it. This, however, would
take some time, and it would be necessary that
the locksmith should keep the weapon by him
for three or four days at least. He took it from
my hands as he told me so, and placed it
carefully on a shelf at the back of his shop.

"'Above all things,' I said, as I left the
house—'above all things, remember that the
revolver is loaded.'

"'I shall not forget it,' he said, turning round
to me with a ghastly smile.

"This, then, was the third time that that
pistol was taken back to the German locksmith
for repair.

"It was the last.

"I can see," continued the narrator of this
strange story, looking round on us, after a pause
—"I can see that you all know what happened,
and that I have only to tell you how the fatal
termination of my story was brought about.

"The German locksmith, being very much
occupied, owing to the reputation he had
obtained as a clever workman, had taken into
his employment a sort of apprentice or assistant,
to help him in the simple and more mechanical
parts of his trade. He was not much use. A
stupid, idle, trifling fellow at best. One day,
soon after I had left my revolver for the last
time to be mended, this lad came in from
executing some errand, and, standing idly about
the place, took down my pistol from the shelf on
which it lay, and began to look at it with some
curiosity, not being accustomed to the sight of
a revolver.

"The locksmith, turning round from his work,
saw the lad thus occupied, and hastily told him
to put the pistol back in the place he had taken
it from. He had not had time, he said, to attend
to it yet. It was loaded, and it was dangerous
to pull it about in that manner. Having said
this, the German locksmith turned round, and
went on with what he was about, with his back
towards the lad whom he had just cautioned, and
who, he naturally supposed, had restored the
pistol at once to its shelf.

"The boy's curiosity, however, was excited by
the revolver, and, instead of doing as he was
bid, he retained it in his hand, and went on
prying into it, examining how the lock acted,
and what were its defects.

"The poor German was going on with his
work, muttering to himself, 'Strange, how that
pistol returns to me, again and again.'

"The words were not out of his lips when the
fatal moment, so long expected, arrived, and the
charge from my revolver entered his back. He
fell forward in a moment, saying as he fell, 'At
last.'

"The foolish boy rushed out of the shop with
the pistol in his hand, screaming for assistance
so loudly that the neighbours were soon alarmed,
and hastened in a crowd to the house of the poor
locksmith.