Here Etwald rose and crossed over to where Maurice was sitting. The young man, guessing his errand, held out his left hand with a smile. Etwald scrutinized it closely, and returned to his seat. "Life in death!" he said calmly. "Read that riddle, Mr. Alymer. Life in death." CHAPTER II. THE ASHANTEE DEVIL-STICK. "Life in death!" repeated Maurice, in puzzled tones. "And what do you mean by that mystical jargon, doctor?" "Ah, my friend, there comes in the riddle." "Paralysis?" suggested David, in a jesting manner, but with some seriousness. "No; that is not the answer." "Catalepsy?" guessed Major Jen, giving his mustache a nervous twist. "Nor that, either." Maurice, whose nerves were proof against such fantasies, laughed disbelievingly. "I don't believe you know the answer to your own riddle," he said calmly. Etwald shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know for certain, Mr. Alymer, but I can guess." "Tell us your guess, doctor; as it interests me so nearly, I have a right to know." "Bad news comes quickly enough in the telling," said the doctor, judicially, "so I shall say nothing more. Life in death is your fate, Mr. Alymer; unless," he added, with a swift and penetrating glance, "you choose to avert the calamity." "Can I do so?" "Yes, and in an easy manner. Never get married." Maurice flushed crimson, and, resenting the mocking tone of Etwald, half rose from his seat; but without moving a finger, Etwald continued in a cold tone: "You are in love with a young lady, and you wish to marry her!" "Quite right, quite right!" broke in Major Jen, heartily. "I want Maurice to marry." "Then you want him to meet his fate of life in death!" said Etwald, curtly. The others stared at him, and with the skepticism of thoroughly healthy minds refused to attach much importance to Etwald's mysticism. Jen was the first to speak, and he did so in rather a stiff way, quite different from his usual jovial style of conversation. "My dear Etwald, if I did not know you so well, I should take you for a charlatan." "I am no charlatan, major," rejoined Etwald, coolly. "I ask no money for my performance." "So it is a performance, after all?" said David, carelessly. "If you choose to call it so. Only I repeat my warning to Mr. Alymer. Never get married." Maurice laughed. "I am afraid it is too late for me to take your advice, doctor," he said, merrily. "I am in love." "I know you are, and I admire your taste." "Pardon me, doctor," said Maurice, stiffly. "I mention no names." "Neither do I, but I think of one name, my friend." Here David, who had been fidgeting with his cigar, broke in impatiently. "Now you are making a mystery out of a plain, common-sense question," he said, irritably. "We all know that Maurice is in love," here he raised his eyes suddenly, and looked keenly at his friend, "with Lady Meg Brance."