"All these I found--I myself--and carried up here from the darkness. Take what you will, little boy, and run back to your ship. Is it diamonds you will choose, or rubies, or--see here--this chain of pearls? I do not like pearls, for my part; they mean sorrow. But--see here, again!--there were boxes and boxes, all heaped to the brim, and long robes sown all over with pearls. Take what you like-- _he_ will not know. He gives me diamonds sometimes. I adored them in the old days, in opera. And he remembers and gives me a stone from time to time, to keep me amused. I laugh to myself, then, when I think of the store I keep, here in my bower. And he so clever! But he does not guess. Ah, child, if I had had but these to wear when I used to sing Eurydice!" She held out two handfuls of diamonds, and began to sing in a high, cracked voice, while she let them rain through her fingers. "But listen!" I cried suddenly. She ceased at once, and stood with her face half turned to the darkness behind her, her arms rigid at her sides, the gems dropping as her hand slowly unclasped them. Below, where the tunnel ran down into darkness, a voice hailed-- "'Metta! Is that 'Metta?" It was the voice of Dr. Beauregard. The poor creature gazed at me helplessly and ran for the stairway. But her feet sank in the loose heap of jewels; she stumbled; and, as she picked herself up, I saw that she was too late; for already a light shone up from the tunnel below, and before she could gain the exit the Doctor stood there, lifting a torch, in the light of which I saw Mr. Rogers close behind his shoulder. "'Metta!" I do not think he would have hurt her. But as the torch flared in her face and lit up the shining heap of jewels, she threw up both hands and doubled back screaming. I believed that she called to me to hide. I put out a hand to catch her by the skirt, seeing that she ran madly; but the thin muslin tore in my clutch. "'Metta!" On the ledge, against the sky, the voice seemed to overtake and steady her for a second; but too late. With a choking cry, she put out both hands against the void, and toppled forward; and in the entrance was nothing but the blue, empty sky. CHAPTER XXXIV. DOCTOR BEAUREGARD. "Glass? My dear madam, pardon my remissness; he is dead. Rosa brought me the news before we sat down to table."