“He then took a little penknife out of the pocket of his white dimity waistcoat.

“He cut the rope asleep.

“The axe descended on the head of the traitor and villain.  The notch in it was made by the steel buckle of his stock, which was cut through.

“A strange legend has got abroad that after the deed was done, the figure rose, took the head from the basket, walked forth through the garden, and by the screaming porters at the gate, and went and laid itself down at the Morgue.  But for this I will not vouch.  Only of this be sure.  ’There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy.’  More and more the light peeps through the chinks.  Soon, amidst music ravishing, the curtain will rise, and the glorious scene be displayed.  Adieu!  Remember me.  Ha! ’tis dawn,” Pinto said.  And he was gone.

I am ashamed to say that my first movement was to clutch the cheque which he had left with me, and which I was determined to present the very moment the bank opened.  I know the importance of these things, and that men change their mind sometimes.  I sprang through the streets to the great banking house of Manasseh in Duke Street.  It seemed to me as if I actually flew as I walked.  As the clock struck ten I was at the counter and laid down my cheque.

The gentleman who received it, who was one of the Hebrew persuasion, as were the other two hundred clerks of the establishment, having looked at the draft with terror in his countenance, then looked at me, then called to himself two of his fellow-clerks, and queer it was to see all their aquiline beaks over the paper.

“Come, come!” said I, “don’t keep me here all day.  Hand me over the money, short, if you please!” for I was, you see, a little alarmed, and so determined to assume some extra bluster.

“Will you have the kindness to step into the parlor to the partners?” the clerk said, and I followed him.

“What, again?” shrieked a bald-headed, red-whiskered gentleman, whom I knew to be Mr. Manasseh.  “Mr. Salathiel, this is too bad!  Leave me with this gentleman, S.”  And the clerk disappeared.

“Sir,” he said, “I know how you came by this; the Count de Pinto gave it you.  It is too bad!  I honor my parents; I honor their parents; I honor their bills!  But this one of grandma’s is too bad—­it is, upon my word now!  She’ve been dead these five-and-thirty years.  And this last four months she has left her burial-place and took to drawing on our ’ouse!  It’s too bad, grandma; it is too bad!” and he appealed to me, and tears actually trickled down his nose.

“Is it the Countess Sidonia’s cheque or not?” I asked, haughtily.

“But, I tell you, she’s dead!  It’s a shame!—­it’s a shame!—­it is, grandmamma!” and he cried, and wiped his great nose in his yellow pocket-handkerchief.  “Look year—­will you take pounds instead of guineas?  She’s dead, I tell you!  It’s no go!  Take the pounds—­one tausend pound!—­ten nice, neat, crisp hundred-pound notes, and go away vid you, do!”