“That confounded beggar girl! She tricked me, she tricked you, she tricked him, and she tricked herself. Would I have wasted two minutes over her, if I had known from the first who she was? ‘Remarkably pretty girl,’ thought I at first; ‘too pretty to have been made for nothing.’ Then I saw Alphonso casting sheep’s-eyes that way. ‘Just the tool I want,’ thought I. ‘The one I’ve been looking for all over.’ And so she led us on all through, skill-less and innocent. All the same, she’s a fascinating little thing, Barringcourt. Just when you think she’s going to do something very, very bad, she does something exceptionally good--and when you anticipate something most saintly, then you’ll have to be careful. What are those papers?” “For him to sign.” “You’ve settled to close to-night, then?” “Yes. I’m taking back all we ever gave him. There won’t be much left for you then.” “No. I’m not keen on a husk. All the same, I think Vestasian should have given him another chance.” “What! In all the record of these pages there is not one ‘Thank you’--not one sincere and humble prayer of thanks.” “I mean you should have given him a chance of going to Hell.” “You’ll never miss him. The crowd is amply big enough. I must go in. Good-night.” “Good-night. Remember me to Marigold when next you see her. Till we meet again!” And so he went--and that little game was over. Plucritus checkmate--yet most even-tempered through it all. And the Master went into the death-chamber, and the doctors, recognising him, made way, for, though he was but Dr Quack, he never advertised, and they had gained so much from his advice to them when struggling, unknown doctors, that they had called him “the Physician,” not knowing who he was. The Master took the feverish pulse in his cool hand, his eyes looked into the restless dying ones, and a calmness settled on the room--only the shallow gasps were heard in quick succession. And at last, to the surprise of all those who had watched beside him, the High Priest panted “Pen and ink,” and almost instantly the shallow breath had flown, and life departed. And afterwards they thought all kinds of things, and wondered what he wished to write--wondering in vain. That done, the Master left the High Priest’s Palace, and took the direct path to where he had fixed to meet Marigold. Meanwhile, at midnight, as he had directed her, she had passed through the door in the shadowy stables--remembering how she had first crept through there--the terror and emotion. And turning to the left, she walked on through the silent country, thinking on all the strange events of the past, so curiously linked with those of the present. And she thought of Alice too--Alice, who would not be comforted--even with a comfortable pension, paid each month. And then most naturally her thoughts flew to the Master, and all the long waiting and the tender love, and the misunderstandings that, if possible, had endeared them to each other.