The rest of my story is soon told.  The whole country was aroused when the crime was discovered, but up to the date of this narrative no word has been received of the missing craft and her precious cargo.  Raleigh and Caesar have had the seas scoured in search of her, Hamlet has offered his kingdom for her return, but unavailingly; and the men of Hades were cast into a gloom from which there seems to be no relief.

Socrates alone was unaffected.

“They’ll come back some day, my dear Raleigh,” he said, as the knight buried his face, weeping, in his hands.  “So why repine?  I’ll never lose my Xanthippe—­permanently, that is.  I know that, for I am a philosopher, and I know there is no such thing as luck.  And we can start another club.”

“Very likely,” sighed Raleigh, wiping his eyes.  “I don’t mind the club so much, but to think of those poor women—­”

“Oh, they’re all right,” returned Socrates, with a laugh.  “Caesar’s wife is along, and you can’t dispute the fact that she’s a good chaperon.  Give the ladies a chance.  They’ve been after our club for years; now let ’em have it, and let us hope that they like it.  Order me up a hemlock sour, and let’s drink to their enjoyment of club life.”

Which was done, and I, in spirit, drank with them, for I sincerely hope that the “New Women” of Hades are having a good time.