voiceful golden bell, carried by a shining
bellman, and the clapper of which was one
huge diamond. The thousands of people
who, a moment before, had been purchasing
jewels and gold, no sooner heard the bell than
they began to scamper like mad towards the
gate; and, at the same time, Acon-Virlaz
heard the bellman making proclamation that
Sky Fair would close in ten minutes time,
and that every man, woman, or child found
within the precincts of the fair, were it only
for the thousandth part of the tithe of a
moment after the clock had struck Twelve,
would be turned into stone for a hundred
years.

Till the men, women, and children from
every nation under the sun (he had not
observed them until now, so intent had he
been on his purchases), came tearing past
him; treading on his toes, bruising his ribs,
jostling him, pushing him from side to side,
screaming to him with curses to move on
quicker, or to get out of the way. But, he
could not move on quicker. His gold stuck
to him. His jewels weighed him down.
Invisible clogs seemed to attach themselves
to his feet. He kept dropping his precious
wares, and, for the life of him, could not
refrain from stopping to pick them up; in
doing which he dropped more.

Till Mr. Ben-Daoud passed him with a
girdle of big diamonds, tied round his waist
in a blue bird's-eye handkerchief, like a profes-
sional pedestrian.

Till the great bell from ringing intermittent
peals kept up one continuous clang. Till a
clock above, like a Catherine wheel, which
Acon-Virlaz had not before noticed, began to
let off rockets of minutes, Roman candles of
seconds. Till the bellman's proclamation
merged into one sustained roar of Oh yes!
Oh yes! Till the red-headed gate-keeper, who
was like Mr. Mephibosheth's turnkey, gave
himself up to an unceasing scream of "All
out! All out!" whirling his keys above his
head, so that they scattered sparks and flakes
of fire all around.

Till fifty thousand other bells began to
clang, and fifty million other voices to scream.
Till all at once there was silence, and the
clock began to strike slowly, sadly, One, two,
three, four—to Twelve.

Acon-Virlaz was within a few feet of the
gate when the fatal clock began to strike.
By a desperate effort he cast aside the load
of plate which impeded his movements. He
tore off his diamond-laden coat; he cast his
waistcoat to the winds, and plunged madly
into the throng that blocked up the entrance.

To find himself too late. The great gates
closed with a heavy shock, and Acon-Virlaz
reeled away from them in the rebound,
bruised, bleeding, and despairing. He was
too late. Sky Fair was closed, and he was to
be turned into stone for a hundred years.

The red-headed doorkeeper (who by the
way squinted abominably) was leaning with
his back to the gate, drumming with his
keys on the bars.

"It's a beautiful day to be indoors," he said,
consolingly. " It's bitter cold outside."

Acon-Virlaz shuddered. He felt his heart
turning into stone within him. He fell on
his knees before the red-headed doorkeeper;
and with tears, sobs, groans, entreated him to
open the gate. He offered him riches, he
offered him the hand of Miriam his large-
eyed daughter: all for one turn of the key
in the lock of the gate of Sky Fair.

"Can't be done," the doorkeeper remarked,
shaking his head. "Till Sky Fair opens
again, you can't be let out."

Again and again did the jeweller entreat,
until he at last appeared to make an impression
on the red-headed janitor.

"Well, I'll tell you what I can do for you,
old gentleman," he said: " I daren't open the
gate for my life; but there's a window in my
lodge; and if you choose to take your chance
of jumping out of it (it is'nt far to fall) you
can."

Acon-Virlaz, uttering a confused medley
of thanks, was about to rush into the lodge,
when the gatekeeper laid his hand upon his
arm.

"By the way, mister," he said, "you may
as well give me that big signet ring on your
finger, as a token to remind you of all the
fine things you promised me when I come
your way."

The jeweller hastily plucked off the desired
trinket, and gave it to his red-headed deliverer.
Then, he darted into the narrow,
dark porter's lodge, overturned a round table,
on which was the doorkeeper's dinner (it
smelt very much like liver and bacon), and
clambered up to a very tall, narrow window.

He leaned his hands on the sill, and thrusting
his head out to see how far he had to
jump, descried, immediately, beneath him the
dusty shay, the discount pony, and Mr. Ben-
Daoud with a lighted cigar in his mouth
and the reins in his hand, just ready to
start.

"Hold hard! " screamed Acon-Virlaz.
"Hold hard! Ben, my dear friend, my old
friend: hold hard, and take me in!"

Mr. Ben-Daoud's reply was concise but
conclusive:

"Go to Bermondsey," he said, and whipped
his pony.

The miserable man groaned aloud in
despair; for the voice of the doorkeeper
urged him to be quick about it, if he
was going to jump; and he felt, not only
his heart, but his limbs, becoming cold and
stony.

Shutting his eyes and clenching his teeth,
he jumped and fell, down, down into space.
According to his own calculations, he must
have fallen at least sixty thousand miles and
for six months in succession; but, according to
Mrs. Acon-Virlaz and Miriam his large-eyed
daughter, he only fell from his arm-chair