Like a child with some Chinese puzzle far beyond the grasp of his smooth, uncreased baby brain, Prince played in unfeigned delight with his problem:  “Given the Universe, to explain the origin and permanence of Law,” without any assistance from the exploded hypothesis of a law maker.  Equipped with hammer, chisel, microscope, spectroscope and crucibles, he essayed the solution, undismayed by memories of his classics, of Sisyphus and Tantalus; seeing only the nodding poppies, the gilded primroses of his dancing goddess.

Will he discover ere long, that a lesser riddle would have been to stand in the manufactory of the Faubourg St. Marcel, and abolishing the pattern of the designers, the directing touch of Lebrun, the restraint of the heddle, demand that the blind, insensate automatic warp and woof should originate, design and trace as well as mechanically execute the weaving of the marvellous tapestries?

“Prince.  I learn from Kittie that you visited the penitentiary last week.”

“Yes.  I could not resist the curiosity to see the author of my recent misfortunes; but I regret the sight.  I am haunted by the painful recurrence of that blanched, hopeless, beautiful face, which reminds me of a pathetic picture I saw abroad—­Charlotte Corday peering through the bars of her dungeon window.”

“With a difference surely!  Marat’s murderess gloried in her crime; an innocent prisoner languishes yonder, in that stone cage beyond the river.”

Mr. Dunbar pointed over the billowing sea of green tree tops, toward an irregular dark shadow that blurred the northern sky line; and his eagle eyes darkened as they discerned the prison outlines.

“Did you ever see a sketch of Rossetti’s ’Pandora’?” asked Prince.

“No.”

“The face is somewhat like that young prisoner’s; the same mystical, prescient melancholy in the wide eyes, as if she realized she was predestine to work woe.  I am heartily glad I was spared the pain of the prosecution, for had I been here, compassion would almost have paralyzed the effort to secure justice; and now, while my loss is irreparable, the law insures punishment for father’s wrongs.  As I walk about this dear old place, which he intended I should possess, and recall all that we had planned, it seems hard indeed that I find myself so unable to execute his wishes.  After a few days, when I shall leave it, I suppose that for the next five years the house will become an owl roost and den of bats and spiders.  On Thursday I go temporarily to Charleston to visit my uncle, Doctor Thornton, who offers me a place in his office, and a home at his hearthstone.”

“Why specifically for five years?”

“That is the term of her imprisonment.  At the expiration of her sentence, I presume Gen. Darringtor’s grand-daughter will hasten to take possession of her dearly-bought domain.”

A derisive smile unbent the tight lines of the lawyer’s mouth.