it cost him his life.  But he was suddenly taken sick of a fever, which, in addition to well-nigh carrying him to the grave, left his intellect in a deranged state, and so reduced him in body that his friends resolved he had only a month or so more for this world.  I had watched over Leon, and but for my poverty would have remained by his bedside until death separated us.  It was my necessities, sir, that compelled me to join you.—­”

“By my honor, friend Tickler,” interrupted the general, approvingly, “I will now swear you make a good soldier; for such faith is rarely met outside of the profession to which I belong.”

“As to that,” resumed Mr. Tickler, “your great experience in these matters must make you the better judge.  It then got (I turn now to Linda and Leon) into the papers that Leon was dead.  And though I know not by what process this was effected, I can tell you that many obituaries were written in respect of him.  Seeing that he had been so honorably disposed of by the editors, Leon held it better not to contradict the report, but as soon as he was in possession of sufficient strength, to leave in disguise for the scene where he would welcome death or win the prize for which his heart yearned.

“Judge, then, of my surprise when I recognized Linda in the lovely creature who played with so much skill, and sang so sweetly.  Our recognition was mutual, for I stood where the shadow of the moonbeams played over my face.  ‘Heavens!’ says I, ’how can I rescue her?’ I saw she was not free, but rather the victim of a heart burdened with cares.  My next thought was how to communicate with her.  I retired to a little cottage close by, where I wrote a note on tissue paper, proposing an appointment on the following day, and secured it to the stem of a rosebud.  Then I found a poor woman, a Savoyard, playing on her harp in the street; and having read that these women were accustomed to performing such parts for the rich lovers of their own country, I engaged her to play under the window until she had so attracted the attention of Linda as to make her understand by signs what was in the bud.  This she engaged to do in a manner that would make success certain.  She then repaired to the task; and having played several airs from the opera of Linda of Chamouni with great artistic skill, soon brought Linda to the window, where she at first listened as if she were taking lessons of a master, but soon changed her listening to surprise at the singular signs made by the woman between the airs.  The mystery was dissolved when I again appeared at the front gate and stood in the shadow of the moonbeams.  Linda declared she would not be content until the poor Savoyard was got into the house, averring that as she had never before heard such exquisite playing, she was anxious to ask the woman some questions concerning her history.  To please Linda, then, she was got into the house, where, embracing a favorable moment, she slipped the