A. Hermitage

Diamond Dogs (2016 Remaster) YouTube video by David Bowie - Topic

Diamond Dogs

X. Wheel of Fortune From Rider-Waite: X. Wheel of Fortune - Destiny, fortune, success, luck, felicity. Reversed: Increase, abundance, superfluity. Dog Tarot Wheel of Fortune: Pictured is the Dog Tarot version of X. Wheel of Fortune. Starting at the top of the card, the Roman numeral X is flanked to its left and right by symbols of Saturn and Jupiter respectively. Below this is the Wheel of Fortune shown as a red disc with yellow outline. Contained within the yellow outline are more Roman numerals with XII in the 12 o'clock position, III in the 2 o'clock, IV in the 5 o'clock, VI in the 6 o'clock, and X in the 10 o'clock position. The wheel frames a pit bull wearing a green collar and biting at its own tail. The dog and the wheel stand on a green table that stretches down to the bottom of the card. Framing the bottom of the card on the left and right are a semi-circle arc facing downward and a triangle point facing upward.

X. Wheel of Fortune - Destiny, fortune, success, luck, felicity.

Two girls play in a refugee camp in Athens Athens, Greece - March 30, 2016: Two girls play volleyball surrounded by UNHCR tents, in the abandoned Athens Olympic baseball stadium, today used as a refugee camp for refugees coming from Irak, Afghanistan and Syria. Credit: brunoat https://www.istockphoto.com/photo/two-girls-play-in-a-refugee-camp-in-athens-gm522787448-91782795

Citi Field https://www.irwinseating.com/case-studies/citi-field Pictured is Citi Field, home of the New York Mets professional baseball team. The stadium is empty and the photo is taken from the stands nearest to left field and third base. An idea for what approaches. . .

"And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it."

Three of Pentacles From Rider-Waite: Three of Pentacles - A sculptor at his work in a monetary. Divinatory Meanings: Métier, trade, skilled labor. Usually, however, regarded as a card of nobility, aristocracy, renown, glory. Reversed: Mediocrity in work and otherwise, puerility, pettiness, weakness. The Three of Pentacles shows a stonemason at work on a church, following a plan held up by a figure clad in a strange orange cloak. Symbolizing lifelong vocation, a monk stands by, observing the work on his building. Our mason stands on a workbench. The mason is working by a half-open door. He wears a tunic of rich purple. The mason appears in a public space. He is proud to show his work. From: A Beginner's Guide to the Cards, Spreads, and Revealing the Mystery of the Tarot, Liz Dean, Fair Winds Press.

Three of Pentacles - A sculptor at his work in a monetary.

Trump, kill yourself.

From the anime community on Reddit: Kill yourself [Sousou no Frieren - episode 10] Posted by Manitary - 5,629 votes and 311 comments

Modern day fascist pedophile demons purport to bring us justice, but they mock the very word and virtue with their evil and grotesque behavior. They preen and crow from a seat of authority, but they are pretenders to the last.

XI. Justice From Rider-Waite: Justice - Equity, rightness, probity, executive. Reversed: Law in all departments, bigotry, bias, excessive severity. Description: A female figure is seated between two pillars on a ceremonial podium. This is the judge, or the virtue Justice personified, holding the traditional symbols of the law - an upright sword in her right hand and the scales in her left. Clad in the red robes of office, her right foot is forward and her pose is alert, as if she is about to pronounce judgement in court. Unlike traditional justice figures, tarot's Justice is not blindfolded. From: A Beginner's Guide to the Cards, Spreads, and Revealing the Mystery of the Tarot, Liz Dean, Fair Winds Press.

XI. Justice

Pictured is Sans from the video game Untertale, a skeleton with right eye closed and left open, shrugging shoulders. "it's a beautiful day outside. birds are singing, flowers are blooming... on days like these, kids like you... Should be burning in hell . huh. always wondered why people never use their strongest attack first. our reports showed a massive anomaly in the timespace continuum. timelines jumping left and right, stopping and starting... until suddenly, everything ends. heh heh heh... that's your fault isn't it? you can't understand how this feels. knowing that one day, without any warning... it's all going to be reset. look. i gave up trying to go back a long time ago. and getting to the surface doesn't really appeal anymore, either. cause even if we do... we'll just end up right back here, without any memory of it, right? to be blunt... it makes it kind of hard to give it my all. ... or is that just a poor excuse for being lazy...? hell if i know. all i know is... seeing what comes next... i can't afford not to care anymore. ugh... that being said... you, uh, really like swinging that thing around, huh? ... listen. i know you didn't answer me before, but... somewhere in there. i can feel it. there's a glimmer of a good person inside of you. the memory of someone who once wanted to do the right thing. someone who, in another time, might have even been... a friend? c'mon, buddy. do you remember me? please, if you're listening... let's forget all of this, ok? just lay down your weapon, and... well, my job will be a lot easier. welp, it was worth a shot. guess you like doing things the hard way, huh?" https://cdn.mos.cms.futurecdn.net/5nULLkfBtxNpjR5SmvmSw.jpg From: The making of Undertale, By Chris Schilling published May 5, 2018. https://www.pcgamer.com/the-making-of-undertale/

To all the players choosing genocide. . .

Three of Swords From Rider-Waite: Three of Swords - Three swords piercing a heart, cloud and rain behind. Divinatory Meanings: Removal, absence, delay, division, rupture, dispersion, and all that the design signifies naturally. Reversed: Mental alienation, error, loss, distraction, disorder, confusion.

Three of Swords - Three swords piercing a heart, cloud and rain behind.

Iran strikes Israel with new missile, drone attack; Israel bombs Tehran Abir Sultan/EPA-EFE. Published On 14 Jun 202514 Jun 2025 https://aje.io/3yr7s9 Ballistic missiles launched from Iran towards Israel in retaliation following airstrikes on Iranian targets. The missiles are in flight about to hit their targets in an Israeli town.

One man's cold love is another person's hot war.

From Rider-Waite: Eight of Wands - The card represents motion through the immovable - a flight of wands through an open country. Eight wands in flight descend in a straight line towards an open country below. The land is green with rolling hills and river bisecting the card. A building stands on one of the hills in the background. Divinatory Meanings: Activity in undertakings, the path of such activity, swiftness, as that of an express messenger; great haste, great hope, speed towards an end which promises assured felicity; that which is on the move, also the arrows of love. Reversed: Arrows of jealousy, internal dispute, stingings of conscience, quarrels. An eye in the sky watches as the attack reaches its target, a peaceful country.

Eight of Wands (Reversed) - The card represents motion through the immovable - a flight of wands through an open country.

From Rider-Waite: Nine of Wands - The figure leans upon his staff and has an expectant look, as if awaiting an enemy. Behind him are eight other staves erect, in orderly disposition, like a palisade. Divinatory Meaning: The card signifies strength in opposition. If attacked, he will meet the onslaught boldly. With this main significance there are all its possible adjuncts, including delay, suspension, adjournment. Reversed: Obstacles, adversity, calamity. A wounded warrior readies their attack which will wound still others.

Nine of Wands - The figure leans upon his staff and has an expectant look, as if awaiting an enemy. Behind him are eight other staves erect, in orderly disposition, like a palisade.

Part 4 Louvre – Giuseppe Cades - Achilles in his Tent with Patroclus, Playing a Lyre, surprised by Ulysses and Nestor c.1782 Taken from https://gallerix.org/storeroom/1265835004/N/4174716577/ Achilles and Patroclus sit in Achilles' tent while Ulysses and Nestor plead with Achilles to return to battle against Troy at the behest of King Agamemnon, who is not pictured. Greek military forces stand by in the background outside the tent entrance.

They who meditate see the offer provided and feel themselves like Achilles, the cup on display is just more of the same from the hand of Agamemnon. But the offer is made from the heavens, and the meditator contemplates under a tree with four cups of truth.

From Rider-Waite: Four of Cups - A young man is seated under a tree and contemplates three cups set on the grass before him. He expresses discontent with his environment. An arm issuing from a cloud offers him another cup. Divinatory Meanings: Weariness, disgust, aversion, imaginary vexations - as if the wine of this world has caused satiety only. Another up of wine, as if a fairy gift, is now offered him, but he sees no consolation therein. This is also a card of blended pleasure. Reversed: Novelty, omen, new instructions, new relations.

Four of Cups - A young man is seated under a tree and contemplates three cups set on the grass before him. He expresses discontent with his environment. An arm issuing from a cloud offers him another cup.

How empathy Kinda Works - Grapes of Wrath Scene YouTube video by Aqua Tick

"In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage."

Outskirts of Salinas, California. Rapidly growing settlement of lettuce workers. Family from Oklahoma settling in makeshift dwelling. Pictured is a man in a hat, leaning on a farm tool. To the left of the man are two children, a young girl standing next to a young boy in a small wagon. To the right of the man and in the background are another young boy and girl. A couple of makeshift dwellings are in the background behind the featured people with laundry hung out to dry on a line. Lange, D. (1939, April). Migrant family in Salinas, CA. Wikimedia. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Migrant_Family_in_Salinas,_CA.jpg - “The decay spreads over the State, and the sweet smell is a great sorrow on the land. Men who can graft the trees and make the seed fertile and big can find no way to let the hungry people eat their produce. Men who have created new fruits in the world cannot create a system whereby their fruits may be eaten. And the failure hangs over the State like a great sorrow. The works of the roots of the vines, of the trees, must be destroyed to keep up the price, and this is the saddest, bitterest thing of all. Carloads of oranges dumped on the ground. The people came for miles to take the fruit, but this could not be. How would they buy oranges at twenty cents a dozen if they could drive out and pick them up? And men with hoses squirt kerosene on the oranges, and they are angry at the crime, angry at the people who have come to take the fruit. A million people hungry, needing the fruit—and kerosene sprayed over the golden mountains. And the smell of rot fills the country. -John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

Mexicans bound for the Imperial Valley to harvest peas near Bakersfield, California Pictured is a young man in a hat standing in front of a larger group of people sitting on the ground that includes men, women, and children. To the back of the people is a vehicle parked on the side of a road. A small, rural town stretches down the road in the photo background. Lange. D. (1936, November). Mexican Migrant Workers in the Imperial Valley. Wikimedia. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mexican_Migrant_Workers_in_the_Imperial_Valley.jpg - Burn coffee for fuel in the ships. Burn corn to keep warm, it makes a hot fire. Dump potatoes in the rivers and place guards along the banks to keep the hungry people from fishing them out. Slaughter the pigs and bury them, and let the putrescence drip down into the earth. There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success. The fertile earth, the straight tree rows, the sturdy trunks, and the ripe fruit. And children dying of pellagra must die because a profit cannot be taken from an orange. And coroners must fill in the certificate—died of malnutrition—because the food must rot, must be forced to rot. The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, but the kerosene is sprayed. And they stand still and watch the potatoes float by, listen to the screaming pigs being killed in a ditch and covered with quick-lime, watch the mountains of oranges slop down to a putrefying ooze; and in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.” -John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

Seven of Pentacles From Rider-Waite: Seven of Pentacles - A young man, leaning on his staff, looks intently at seven pentacles attached to a clump of greenery on his right. One would say that these were his treasures and that his heart was there. Divinatory Meanings: These are exceedingly contradictory, in the main, it is a card of money, business, barter - but one reading give altercation, quarrel, and another innocence, ingenuity, purgation. Reversed: Anxiety about money. The young man pictured has one pentacle detached from the clump of greenery, sitting at his feet. He wears a faded red tunic with blue undergarments.

Seven of Pentacles - A young man, leaning on his staff, looks intently at seven pentacles attached to a clump of greenery on his right. One would say that these were his treasures and that his heart was there.

The Arch of Trump’s Triumph and Downfall Triumphal arches have been used for imperialistic ends since Roman antiquity, and the president’s latest proposal is no exception.

Our modern day Ozymandias really let himself go.

No thing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

— Percy Shelley, "Ozymandias", 1819 edition

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desart. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

From Rider-Waite: Page of Wands - In a scene similar to the former (Knight of Wands), a young man stands in the act of proclamation. He is unknown but faithful, and his tidings are strange. (A dark young man in yellow tunic emblazoned with salamanders inspects his wand while standing in the desert by pyramids.) Divinatory Meanings: Dark young man, faithful, a lover, an envoy, a postman. Beside a man, he will bear favorable testimony concerning him. He is a dangerous rival, if followed by the Page of Cups. Has the chief qualities of his suit. Reversed: Anecdotes, announcements, evil news. Also indecision and the instability which usually accompanies it.

Page of Wands - In a scene similar to the former (Knight of Wands), a young man stands in the act of proclamation. He is unknown but faithful, and his tidings are strange.

Then when I could no longer move they came nearer; I saw old Hawberk, and behind him my cousin Louis' ghastly face, and farther away, in the corner, a woman, Constance, weeping softly. "Ah! I see it now!" I shrieked. "You have seized the throne and the empire. Woe! woe to you who are crowned with the crown of the King in Yellow!" [Editor's note.—Mr. Castaigne died yesterday in the Asylum for Criminal Insane.] (37)

I believe I listened as much to the music of his spurs and sabre as I did to his boyish babble, and at last we stood under the elms on the Fourth Street corner of the square opposite the Lethal Chamber. Then he laughed and asked me what I wanted with him. I motioned him to a seat on a bench under the electric light, and sat down beside him. He looked at me curiously, with that same searching glance which I hate and fear so in doctors. I felt the insult of his look, but he did not know it, and I carefully concealed my feelings. "Well, old chap," he inquired, "what can I do for you?" I drew from my pocket the manuscript and notes of the Imperial Dynasty of America, and, looking him in the eye, said: "I will tell you. On your word as a soldier, promise me to read this manuscript from beginning to end without asking me a question. Promise me to read these notes in the same way, and promise me to listen to what I have to tell later." "I promise, if you wish it," he said, pleasantly. "Give me the paper, Hildred." He began to read, raising his eyebrows with a puzzled, whimsical air, which made me tremble with suppressed anger. As he advanced, his eyebrows contracted, and his lips seemed to form the word "rubbish." Then he looked slightly bored, but apparently for my sake read, with an attempt at interest, which presently ceased to be an effort. He started when, in the closely written pages he came to his own name, and when he came to mine he lowered the paper and looked sharply at me for a moment. But he kept his word, and resumed his reading, and I let the half-formed question die on his lips unanswered. When he came to the end and read the signature of Mr. Wilde, he folded the paper carefully and returned it to me. I handed him the notes, and he settled back, pushing his fatigue cap up to his forehead with a boyish gesture which I remembered so well in school. (33)

I watched his face as he read, and when he finished I took the notes, with the manuscript, and placed them in my pocket. Then I unfolded a scroll marked with the Yellow Sign. He saw the sign, but he did not seem to recognize it, and I called his attention to it somewhat sharply. "Well," he said, "I see it. What is it?" "It is the Yellow Sign," I said, angrily. "Oh, that's it, is it?" said Louis, in that flattering voice which Dr. Archer used to employ with me, and would probably have employed again, had I not settled his affair for him. I kept my rage down and answered as steadily as possible, "Listen, you have engaged your word?" "I am listening, old chap," he replied, soothingly. I began to speak very calmly: "Dr. Archer, having by some means become possessed of the secret of the Imperial Succession, attempted to deprive me of my right, alleging that, because of a fall from my horse four years ago, I had become mentally deficient. He presumed to place me under restraint in his own house in hopes of either driving me insane or poisoning me. I have not forgotten it. I visited him last night and the interview was final." Louis turned quite pale, but did not move. I resumed, triumphantly: "There are yet three people to be interviewed in the interests of Mr. Wilde and myself. They are my cousin Louis, Mr. Hawberk, and his daughter Constance." Louis sprang to his feet, and I arose also, and flung the paper marked with the Yellow Sign to the ground. "Oh, I don't need that to tell you what I have to say," I cried, with a laugh of triumph. "You must renounce the crown to me—do you hear, to me?" Louis looked at me with a startled air, but, recovering himself, said kindly, "Of course I renounce the—what is it I must renounce?" "The crown," I said, angrily. "Of course," he answered, "I renounce it. Come, old chap, I'll walk back to your rooms with you." (34)

"Don't try any of your doctor's tricks on me," I cried, trembling with fury. "Don't act as if you think I am insane." "What nonsense!" he replied. "Come, it's getting late, Hildred." "No," I shouted, "you must listen. You cannot marry; I forbid it. Do you hear? I forbid it. You shall renounce the crown, and in reward I grant you exile; but if you refuse you shall die." He tried to calm me, but I was roused at last, and, drawing my long knife, barred his way. Then I told him how they would find Dr. Archer in the cellar with his throat open, and I laughed in his face when I thought of Vance and his knife, and the order signed by me. "Ah, you are the King," I cried, "but I shall be King. Who are you to keep me from empire over all the habitable earth! I was born the cousin of a king, but I shall be King!" Louis stood white and rigid before me. Suddenly a man came running up Fourth Street, entered the gate of the Lethal Temple, traversed the path to the bronze doors at full speed, and plunged into the death-chamber with the cry of one demented, and I laughed until I wept tears, for I had recognized Vance, and knew that Hawberk and his daughter were no longer in my way. "Go," I cried to Louis, "you have ceased to be a menace. You will never marry Constance now, and if you marry any one else in your exile, I will visit you as I did my doctor last night. Mr. Wilde takes charge of you to-morrow." Then I turned and darted into South Fifth Avenue, and with a cry of terror Louis dropped his belt and sabre and followed me like the wind. I heard him close behind me at the corner of Bleecker Street, and I dashed into the door-way under Hawberk's sign. He cried, "Halt, or I fire!' but when he saw that I flew up the stairs leaving Hawberk's shop below, he left me, and I heard him hammering and shouting at their door as though it were possible to arouse the dead. (35)

Mr. Wilde's door was open, and I entered, crying: "It is done, it is done! Let the nations rise and look upon their King!" but I could not find Mr. Wilde, so I went to the cabinet and took the splendid diadem from its case. Then I drew on the white silk robe, embroidered with the Yellow Sign, and placed the crown upon my head. At last I was King, King by my right in Hastur, King because I knew the mystery of the Hyades, and my mind had sounded the depths of the Lake of Hali. I was King! The first gray pencillings of dawn would raise a tempest which would shake two hemispheres. Then as I stood, my every nerve pitched to the highest tension, faint with the joy and splendor of my thought, without, in the dark passage, a man groaned. I seized the tallow dip and sprang to the door. The cat passed me like a demon, and the tallow dip went out, but my long knife flew swifter than she, and I heard her screech, and I knew that my knife had found her. For a moment I listened to her tumbling and thumping about in the darkness, and then, when her frenzy ceased, I lighted a lamp and raised it over my head. Mr. Wilde lay on the floor with his throat torn open. At first I thought he was dead, but as I looked a green sparkle came into his sunken eyes, his mutilated hand trembled, and then a spasm stretched his mouth from ear to ear. For a moment my terror and despair gave place to hope, but as I bent over him his eyeballs rolled clean around in his head, and he died. Then, while I stood transfixed with rage and despair, seeing my crown, my empire, every hope and every ambition, my very life, lying prostrate there with the dead master, they came, seized me from behind and bound me until my veins stood out like cords, and my voice failed with the paroxysms of my frenzied screams. But I still raged, bleeding and infuriated, among them, and more than one policeman felt my sharp teeth. (36)

His eyes were injected with blood, his lips tumefied. "Called April 28th," continued Mr. Wilde. "Occupation, cashier in the Seaforth National Bank; has served a term for forgery at Sing Sing, whence he was transferred to the Asylum for the Criminal Insane. Pardoned by the Governor of New York, and discharged from the Asylum January 19, 1918. Reputation damaged at Sheepshead Bay. Rumors that he lives beyond his income. Reputation to be repaired at once. Retainer, $1500. "Note.—Has embezzled sums amounting to $30,000 since March 20, 1919. Excellent family, and secured present position through uncle's influence. Father, President of Seaforth Bank." I looked at the man on the floor. "Get up, Vance," said Mr. Wilde, in a gentle voice. Vance rose as if hypnotized. "He will do as we suggest now," observed Mr. Wilde, and, opening the manuscript, he read the entire history of the Imperial Dynasty of America. Then, in a kind and soothing murmur, he ran over the important points with: Vance, who stood like one stunned. His eyes were so blank and vacant that I imagined he had become half-witted, and remarked it to Mr. Wilde, who replied that it was of no consequence anyway. Very patiently we pointed out to Vance what his share in the affair would be, and he seemed to understand after a while. Mr. Wilde explained the manuscript, using several volumes on Heraldry to substantiate the result of his researches. He mentioned the establishment of the Dynasty in Carcosa, the lakes which connected Hastur, Aldebaran, and the mystery of the Hyades. He spoke of Cassilda and Camilla, and sounded the cloudy depths of Demhe and the Lake of Hali. "The scalloped tatters of the King in Yellow must hide Yhtill forever," he muttered, but I do not believe Vance heard him. (29)

Then by degrees he led Vance along the ramifications of the imperial family to Uoht and Thale, from Naotalba and Phantom of Truth to Aldones, and then, tossing aside his manuscript and notes, he began the wonderful story of the Last King. Fascinated and thrilled, I watched him. He threw up his head, his long arms were stretched out in a magnificent gesture of pride and power, and his eyes blazed deep in their sockets like two emeralds. Vance listened, stupefied. As for me, when at last Mr. Wilde had finished, and, pointing to me, cried, "The cousin of the King," my head swam with excitement. Controlling myself with a superhuman effort, I explained to Vance why I alone was worthy of the crown, and why my cousin must be exiled or die. I made him understand that my cousin must never marry, even after renouncing all his claims, and how that, least of all, he should marry the daughter of the Marquis of Avonshire and bring England into the question. I showed him a list of thousands of names which Mr. Wilde had drawn up; every man whose name was there had received the Yellow Sign, which no living human being dared disregard. The city, the State, the whole land, were ready to rise and tremble before the Pallid Mask. The time had come, the people should know the son of Hastur, and the whole world bow to the black stars which hang in the sky over Carcosa. Vance leaned on the table, his head buried in his hands. Mr. Wilde drew a rough sketch on the margin of yesterday's Herald with a bit of lead-pencil. It was a plan of Hawberk's rooms. Then he wrote out the order and affixed the seal, and, shaking like a palsied man, I signed my first writ of execution with my name Hildred-Rex. Mr. Wilde clambered to the floor and, unlocking the cabinet, took a long, square box from the first shelf. This he brought to the table and opened. A new knife lay in the tissue-paper inside, and I picked it up and handed it to Vance, along with the order and the plan of Hawberk's apartment. (30)

Then Mr. Wilde told Vance he could go; and he went, shambling like an outcast of the slums. I sat for a while watching the daylight fade behind the square tower of the Judson Memorial Church, and finally, gathering up the manuscript and notes, took my hat and started for the door. Mr. Wilde watched me in silence. When I had stepped into the hall I looked back; Mr. Wilde's small eyes were still fixed on me. Behind him the shadows gathered in the fading light. Then I closed the door behind me and went out into the darkening streets. I had eaten nothing since breakfast, but I was not hungry. A wretched, half-starved creature, who stood looking across the street at the Lethal Chamber, noticed me and came up to tell me a tale of misery. I gave him money—I don't know why—and he went away without thanking me. An hour later another outcast approached and whined his story. I had a blank bit of paper in my pocket, on which was traced the Yellow Sign, and I handed it to him. He looked at it stupidly for a moment, and then, with an uncertain glance at me, folded it with what seemed to me exaggerated care and placed it in his bosom. The electric lights were sparkling among the trees, and the new moon shone in the sky above the Lethal Chamber. It was tiresome waiting in the square; I wandered from the marble arch to the artillery stables, and back again to the lotos fountain. The flowers and grass exhaled a fragrance which troubled me. The jet of the fountain played in the moonlight, and the musical splash of falling drops reminded me of the tinkle of chained mail in Hawberk's shop. But it was not so fascinating, and the dull sparkle of the moonlight on the water brought no such sensations of exquisite pleasure as when the sunshine played over the polished steel of a corselet on Hawberk's knee. (31)

I watched the bats darting and turning above the water plants in the fountain basin, but their rapid, jerky flight set my nerves on edge, and I went away again to walk aimlessly to and fro among the trees. The artillery stables were dark, but in the cavalry barracks the officers' windows were brilliantly lighted, and the sally-port was constantly filled with troopers in fatigue, carrying straw and harness and baskets filled with tin dishes. Twice the mounted sentry at the gates was changed while I wandered up and down the asphalt walk. I looked at my watch. It was nearly time. The lights in the barracks went out one by one, the barred gate was closed, and every minute or two an officer passed in through the side wicket, leaving a rattle of accoutrements and a jingle of spurs on the night air. The square had become very silent. The last homeless loiterer had been driven away by the gray-coated park policeman, the car tracks along Wooster Street were deserted, and the only sound which broke the stillness was the stamping of the sentry's horse and the ring of his sabre against the saddle pommel. In the barracks the officers' quarters were still lighted, and military servants passed and repassed before the bay-windows. Twelve o'clock sounded from the new spire of St. Francis Xavier, and at the last stroke of the sad-toned bell a figure passed through the wicket beside the portcullis, returned the salute of the sentry, and, crossing the street, entered the square and advanced towards the Benedick apartment house. "Louis," I called. The man pivoted on his spurred heels and came straight towards me. "Is that you, Hildred?" "Yes, you are on time." I took his offered hand and we strolled towards the Lethal Chamber. He rattled on about his wedding and the graces of Constance and their future prospects, calling my attention to his captain's shoulder-straps and the triple gold arabesque on his sleeve and fatigue cap. (32)

"Jumping mud creeks in Jersey," he said. "I haven't had time to change yet; I was rather in a hurry to see you. Haven't you got a glass of something? I'm dead tired; been in the saddle twenty-four hours." I gave him some brandy from my medicinal store, which he drank with a grimace. "Damned bad stuff," he observed. "I'll give you an address where they sell brandy that is brandy." "It's good enough for my needs," I said, indifferently. "I use it to rub my chest with." He stared and flicked at another fly. "See here, old fellow," he began, "I've got something to suggest to you. It's four years now that you've shut yourself up here like an owl, never going anywhere, never taking any healthy exercise, never doing a damn thing but poring over those books up there on the mantel-piece." He glanced along the row of shelves. "Napoleon, Napoleon, Napoleon!" he read. "For Heaven's sake, have you nothing but Napoleons there?" "I wish they were bound in gold," I said. "But wait—yes, there is another book, 'The King in Yellow ' " I looked him steadily in the eye. "Have you never read it?" I asked. "I? No, thank God! I don't want to be driven crazy." I saw he regretted his speech as soon as he had uttered it. There is only one word which I loathe more than I do lunatic, and that word is crazy. But I controlled myself and asked him why he thought "The King in Yellow" dangerous. "Oh, I don't know," he said, hastily. "I only remember the excitement it created and the denunciations from pulpit and press. I believe the author shot himself after bringing forth this monstrosity, didn't he?" "I understand he is still alive," I answered. "That's probably true," he muttered; "bullets couldn't kill a fiend like that." "It is a book of great truths," I said. (25)

"Yes," he replied, "of 'truths' which send men frantic and blast their lives. I don't care if the thing is, as they say, the very supreme essence of art. It's a crime to have written it, and I for one shall never open its pages." "Is that what you have come to tell me?" I asked. "No," he said, "I came to tell you that I am going to be married." I believe for a moment my heart ceased to beat, but I kept my eyes on his face. "Yes," he continued, smiling happily, "married to the sweetest girl on earth." "Constance Hawberk," I said, mechanically. "How did you know?" he cried, astonished. "I didn't know it myself until that evening last April, when we strolled down to the embankment before dinner." "When is it to be?" I asked. "It was to have been next September; but an hour ago a despatch came, ordering our regiment to the Presidio, San Francisco. We leave at noon to-morrow. To-morrow," he repeated. "Just think, Hildred, tomorrow I shall be the happiest fellow that ever drew breath in this jolly world, for Constance will go with me." I offered him my hand in congratulation, and he seized and shook it like the good-natured fool he was —or pretended to be. "I am going to get my squadron as a wedding present," he rattled on. "Captain and Mrs. Louis Castaigne—eh, Hildred?" Then he told me where it was to be and who were to be there, and made me promise to come and be best man. I set my teeth and listened to his boyish chatter without showing what I felt, but— I was getting to the limit of my endurance, and when he jumped up, and, switching his spurs till they jingled, said he must go, I did not detain him. "There's one thing I want to ask of you," I said, quietly. "Out with it—it's promised," he laughed. "I want you to meet me for a quarter of an hour's talk to-night." "Of course, if you wish," he said, somewhat puzzled. "Where?" "Anywhere—in the park there." "What time, Hildred?" "Midnight." (26)

"What in the name of—" he began, but checked himself and laughingly assented. I watched him go down the stairs and hurry away, his sabre banging at every stride. He turned into Bleecker Street, and I knew he was going to see Constance. I gave him ten minutes to disappear and then followed in his footsteps, taking with me the jewelled crown and the silken robe embroidered with the Yellow Sign. When I turned into Bleecker Street and entered the doorway which bore the sign, Mr. Wilde, Repairer Of Reputations, 3d Bell, I saw old Hawberk moving about in his shop, and imagined I heard Constance's voice in the parlor; but I avoided them both and hurried up the trembling stair-ways to Mr. Wilde's apartment. I knocked, and entered without ceremony. Mr. Wilde lay groaning on the floor, his face covered with blood, his clothes torn to shreds. Drops of blood were scattered about over the carpet, which had also been ripped and frayed in the evidently recent struggle. "It's that cursed cat," he said, ceasing his groans and turning his colorless eyes to me; "she attacked me while I was asleep. I believe she will kill me yet." This was too much, so I went into the kitchen and, seizing a hatchet from the pantry, started to find the infernal beast and settle her then and there. My search was fruitless, and after a while I gave it up and came back to find Mr. Wilde squatting on his high chair by the table. He had washed his face and changed his clothes. The great furrows which the cat's claws had ploughed up in his face he had filled with collodion, and a rag hid the wound in his throat. I told him I should kill the cat when I came across her, but he only shook his head and turned to the open ledger before him. He read name after name of the people who had come to him in regard to their reputation, and the sums he had amassed were startling. "I put on the screws now and then," he explained. (27)

"One day or other some of these people will assassinate you," I insisted. "Do you think so?" he said, rubbing his mutilated ears. It was useless to argue with him, so I took down the manuscript entitled Imperial Dynasty of America for the last time I should ever take it down in Mr. Wilde's study. I read it through, thrilling and trembling with pleasure. When I had finished, Mr. Wilde took the manuscript, and, turning to the dark passage which leads from his study to his bedchamber, called out, in a loud voice, "Vance." Then for the first time I noticed a man crouching there in the shadow. How I had overlooked him during my search for the cat I cannot imagine. "Vance, come in!" cried Mr. Wilde. The figure rose and crept towards us, and I shall never forget the face that he raised to mine as the light from the window illuminated it. "Vance, this is Mr. Castaigne," said Mr. Wilde. Before he had finished speaking, the man threw himself on the ground before the table, crying and gasping, "Oh, God! Oh, my God! Help me! Forgive me— Oh, Mr. Castaigne, keep that man away! You cannot, you cannot mean it! You are different —save me! I am broken down—I was in a madhouse, and now—when all was coming right—when I had forgotten the King—the King in Yellow, and—but I shall go mad again—I shall go mad—" His voice died into a choking rattle, for Mr. Wilde had leaped on him, and his right hand encircled the man's throat. When Vance fell in a heap on the floor, Mr. Wilde clambered nimbly into his chair again, and, rubbing his mangled ears with the stump of his hand, turned to me and asked me for the ledger. I reached it down from the shelf and he opened it. After a moment's searching among the beautifully written pages, he coughed complacently and pointed to the name Vance. "Vance," he read, aloud—"Osgood Oswald Vance." At the sound of his name the man on the floor raised his head and turned a convulsed face to Mr. Wilde. (28)

"Those two squatty-looking chunks of metal which are anchored there off Castle William are the double-turreted monitors Terrible and Magnificent; behind them lies the ram Osceola." Constance looked at him with deep approval in her beautiful eyes. "What loads of things you know for a soldier," she said, and we all joined in the laugh which followed. Presently Louis rose with a nod to us and offered his arm to Constance, and they strolled away along the river-wall. Hawberk watched them for a moment, and then turned to me. "Mr. Wilde was right," he said. "I have found the missing tassets and left cuissard of the 'Prince's Emblazoned,' in a vile old junk garret in Pell Street." "998?" I inquired, with a smile. "Yes." "Mr. Wilde is a very intelligent man," I observed. "I want to give him the credit of this most important discovery," continued Hawberk. "And I intend it shall be known that he is entitled to the fame of it." "He won't thank you for that," I answered, sharply; "please say nothing about it." "Do you know what it is worth?" said Hawberk. "No—fifty dollars, perhaps." "It is valued at five hundred, but the owner of the 'Prince's Emblazoned' will give two thousand dollars to the person who completes his suit; that reward also belongs to Mr. Wilde." "He doesn't want it! He refuses it!" I answered, angrily. "What do you know about Mr. Wilde? He doesn't need the money. He is rich—or will be— richer than any living man except myself. What will we care for money then—what will we care, he and I, when—when—" "When what?" demanded Hawberk, astonished. "You will see," I replied, on my guard again. He looked at me narrowly, much as Dr. Archer used to, and I knew he thought I was mentally unsound. Perhaps it was fortunate for him that he did not use the word lunatic just then. "No," I replied to his unspoken thought, "I am not mentally weak; my mind is as healthy as Mr. Wilde's." (21)

"I do not care to explain just yet what I have on hand, but it is an investment which will pay more than mere gold, silver, and precious stones. It will secure the happiness and prosperity of a continent —yes, a hemisphere!" "Oh," said Hawberk. "And eventually," I continued, more quietly, "it will secure the happiness of the whole world." "And incidentally your own happiness and prosperity as well as Mr. Wilde's?" "Exactly." I smiled, but I could have throttled him for taking that tone. He looked at me in silence for a while, and then said, very gently: "Why don't you give up your books and studies, Mr. Castaigne, and take a tramp among the mountains somewhere or other? You used to be fond of fishing. Take a cast or two at the trout in the Rangelys." "I don't care for fishing any more," I answered, without a shade of annoyance in my voice. "You used to be fond of everything," he continued— "athletics, yachting, shooting, riding—" "I have never cared to ride since my fall," I said, quietly. "Ah, yes, your fall," he repeated, looking away from me. I thought this nonsense had gone far enough, so I turned the conversation back to Mr. Wilde; but he was scanning my face again in a manner highly offensive to me. "Mr. Wilde," he repeated; "do you know what he did this afternoon? He came down-stairs and nailed a sign over the hall door next to mine; it read: Mr. Wilde, Repairer Of Reputations. 3d Bell. Do you know what a Repairer of Reputations can be?" "I do," I replied, suppressing the rage within. "Oh," he said again. Louis and Constance came strolling by and stopped to ask if we would join them. Hawberk looked at his watch. At the same moment a puff of smoke shot from the casemates of Castle William, and the boom of the sunset gun rolled across the water and was re-echoed from the Highlands opposite. (22)

The flag came running down from the flag-pole, the bugles sounded on the white decks of the war-ships, and the first electric light sparkled out from the Jersey shore. As I turned into the city with Hawberk I heard Constance murmur something to Louis which I did not understand; but Louis whispered "My darling!" in reply; and again, walking ahead with Hawberk through the square, I heard a murmur of "sweethearts" and "my own Constance!" and I knew the time had nearly arrived when I should speak of important matters with my cousin Louis. III ONE morning early in May I stood before the steel safe in my bedroom, trying on the golden jewelled crown. The diamonds flashed fire as I turned to the mirror, and the heavy beaten gold burned like a halo about my head. I remembered Camilla's agonized scream and the awful words echoing through the dim streets of Carcosa. They were the last lines in the first act, and I dared not think of what followed—dared not, even in the spring sunshine, there in my own room, surrounded with familiar objects, reassured by the bustle from the street and the voices of the servants in the hall-way outside. For those poisoned words had dropped slowly into my heart, as death-sweat drops upon a bed-sheet and is absorbed. Trembling, I put the diadem from my head and wiped my forehead, but I thought of Hastur and of my own rightful ambition, and I remembered Mr. Wilde as I had last left him, his face all torn and bloody from the claws of that devil's creature, and what he said—ah, what he said! The alarm-bell in the safe began to whir harshly, and I knew my time was up; but I would not heed it, and, replacing the flashing circlet upon my head, I turned defiantly to the mirror. I stood for a long time absorbed in the changing expression of my own eyes. The mirror reflected a face which was like my own, but whiter, and so thin that I hardly recognized it. (23)

And all the time I kept repeating between my clinched teeth, "The day has come! the day has come!" while the alarm in the safe whirred and clamored, and the diamonds sparkled and flamed above my brow. I heard a door open, but did not heed it. It was only when I saw two faces in the mirror; it was only when another face rose over my shoulder, and two other eyes met mine. I wheeled like a flash and seized a long knife from my dressing-table, and my cousin sprang back very pale, crying: "Hildred! for God's sake!" Then, as my hand fell, he said: "It is I, Louis; don't you know me?" I stood silent. I could not have spoken for my life. He walked up to me and took the knife from my hand. "What is all this?" he inquired, in a gentle voice. "Are you ill?" "No," I replied. But I doubt if he heard me. "Come, come, old fellow," he cried, "take off that brass crown and toddle into the study. Are you going to a masquerade? What's all this theatrical tinsel anyway?" I was glad he thought the crown was made of brass and paste, yet I didn't like him any the better for thinking so. I let him take it from my hand, knowing it was best to humor him. He tossed the splendid diadem in the air, and, catching it, turned to me smiling. "It's dear at fifty cents," he said. "What's it for?" I did not answer, but took the circlet from his hands, and, placing it in the safe, shut the massive steel door. The alarm ceased its infernal din at once. He watched me curiously, but did not seem to notice the sudden ceasing of the alarm. He did, however, speak of the safe as a biscuit-box. Fearing lest he might examine the combination, I led the way into my study. Louis threw himself on the sofa and flicked at flies with his eternal riding-whip. He wore his fatigue uniform, with the braided jacket and jaunty cap, and I noticed that his riding-boots were all splashed with red mud. "Where have you been?" I inquired. (24)

I walked slowly back into my study, which faces Washington Square, and leaned on the window-sill. The afternoon sun poured into my windows, and a gentle breeze stirred the branches of the elms and maples in the park, now covered with buds and tender foliage. A flock of pigeons circled about the tower of the Memorial Church; sometimes alighting on the purple-tiled roof, sometimes wheeling downward to the lotos fountain in front of the marble arch. The gardeners were busy with the flower-beds around the fountain, and the freshly turned earth smelled sweet and spicy. A lawn-mower, drawn by a fat, white horse, clinked across the greensward, and watering-carts poured showers of spray over the asphalt drives. Around the statue of Peter Stuyvesant, which in 1906 had replaced the monstrosity supposed to represent Garibaldi, children played in the spring sunshine, and nurse girls wheeled elaborate baby-carriages with a reckless disregard for the pasty-faced occupants, which could probably be explained by the presence of half a dozen trim dragoon troopers languidly lolling on the benches. Through the trees the Washington Memorial Arch glistened like silver in the sunshine, and beyond, on the eastern extremity of the square, the gray-stone barracks of the dragoons and the white-granite artillery stables were alive with color and motion. I looked at the Lethal Chamber on the corner of the square opposite. A few curious people still lingered about the gilded iron railing, but inside the grounds the paths were deserted. I watched the fountains ripple and sparkle; the sparrows had already found this new bathing nook, and the basins were crowded with the dusty-feathered little things. Two or three white peacocks picked their way across the lawns, and a drab-colored pigeon sat so motionless on the arm of one of the Fates that it seemed to be a part of the sculptured stone. (17)

As I was turning carelessly away, a slight commotion in the group of curious loiterers around the gates attracted my attention. A young man had entered, and was advancing with nervous strides along the gravel path which leads to the bronze doors of the Lethal Chamber. He paused a moment before the Fates, and as he raised his head to those three mysterious faces, the pigeon rose from its sculptured perch, circled about for a moment, and wheeled to the east. The young man pressed his hands to his face, and then, with an undefinable gesture, sprang up the marble steps, the bronze doors closed behind him, and half an hour later the loiterers slouched away and the frightened pigeon returned to its perch in the arms of Fate. I put on my hat and went out into the park for a little walk before dinner. As I crossed the central driveway a group of officers passed, and one of them called out, "Hello, Hildred!" and came back to shake hands with me. It was my cousin Louis, who stood smiling and tapping his spurred heels with his riding-whip. "Just back from Westchester," he said; "been doing the bucolic; milk and curds, you know; dairy-maids in sunbonnets, who say 'haeow' and 'I don't think' when you tell them they are pretty. I'm nearly dead for a square meal at Delmonico's. What's the news?" "There is none," I replied, pleasantly. "I saw your regiment coming in this morning." "Did you? I didn't see you. Where were you?" "In Mr. Wilde's window." "Oh, hell!" he began, impatiently, "that man is stark mad! I don't understand why you—" He saw how annoyed I felt by this outburst, and begged my pardon. "Really, old chap," he said, "I don't mean to run down a man you like, but for the life of me I can't see what the deuce you find in common with Mr. Wilde. He's not well bred, to put it generously; he's hideously deformed; his head is the head of a criminally insane person. You know yourself he's been in an asylum—" (18)

"So have I," I interrupted, calmly. Louis looked startled and confused for a moment, but recovered and slapped me heartily on the shoulder. "You were completely cured," he began; but I stopped him again. "I suppose you mean that I was simply acknowledged never to have been insane." "Of course that—that's what I meant," he laughed. I disliked his laugh, because I knew it was forced; but I nodded gayly and asked him where he was going. Louis looked after his brother officers, who had now almost reached Broadway. "We had intended to sample a Brunswick cocktail, but, to tell you the truth, I was anxious for an excuse to go and see Hawberk instead. Come along; I'll make you my excuse." We found old Hawberk, neatly attired in a fresh spring suit, standing at the door of his shop and sniffing the air. "I had just decided to take Constance for a little stroll before dinner," he replied to the impetuous volley of questions from Louis. "We thought of walking on the park terrace along the North River." At that moment Constance appeared and grew pale and rosy by turns as Louis bent over her small, gloved fingers. I tried to excuse myself, alleging an engagement up-town, but Louis and Constance would not listen, and I saw I was expected to remain and engage old Hawberk's attention. After all, it would be just as well if I kept my eye on Louis, I thought, and, when they hailed a Spring Street electric-car, I got in after them and took my seat beside the armorer. The beautiful line of parks and granite terraces overlooking the wharves along the North River, which were built in 1910 and finished in the autumn of 1917, had become one of the most popular promenades in the metropolis. They extended from the Battery to One Hundred and Ninetieth Street, overlooking the noble river, and affording a fine view of the Jersey shore and the Highlands opposite. (19)

Cafés and restaurants were scattered here and there among the trees, and twice a week military bands from the garrison played in the kiosques on the parapets. We sat down in the sunshine on the bench at the foot of the equestrian statue of General Sheridan. Constance tipped her sunshade to shield her eyes, and she and Louis began a murmuring conversation which was impossible to catch. Old Hawberk, leaning on his ivory-headed cane, lighted an excellent cigar, the mate to which I politely refused, and smiled at vacancy. The sun hung low above the Staten Island woods, and the bay was dyed with golden hues reflected from the sun-warmed sails of the shipping in the harbor. Brigs, schooners, yachts, clumsy ferry-boats, their decks swarming with people, railroad transports carrying lines of brown, blue, and white freight-cars, stately Sound steamers, déclassé tramp steamers, coasters, dredgers, scows, and everywhere pervading the entire bay impudent little tugs puffing and whistling officiously — these were the craft which churned the sunlit waters as far as the eye could reach. In calm contrast to the hurry of sailing vessel and steamer, a silent fleet of white war-ships lay motionless in midstream. Constance's merry laugh aroused me from my reverie. "What are you staring at?" she inquired. "Nothing—the fleet." I smiled. Then Louis told us what the vessels were, pointing out each by its relative position to the old red fort on Governor's Island. "That little cigar-shaped thing is a torpedo-boat," he explained; "there are four more lying close together. They are the Tarpon, the Falcon, the Sea Fox, and the Octopus. The gunboats just above are the Princeton, the Champlain, the Still Water, and the Erie. Next to them lie the cruisers Farragut and Los Angeles, and above them the battle-ships California and Dakota, and the Washington, which is the flagship." (20)

His colorless eyes sought mine. "I only wanted to demonstrate that I was correct. You said it was impossible to succeed as a Repairer of Reputations; that even if I did succeed in certain cases, it would cost me more than I would gain by it. To-day I have five hundred men in my employ, who are poorly paid, but who pursue the work with an enthusiasm which possibly may be born of fear. These men enter every shade and grade of society; some even are pillars of the most exclusive social temples; others are the prop and pride of the financial world; still others hold undisputed sway among the 'Fancy and the Talent.' I choose them at my leisure from those who reply to my advertisements. It is easy enough—they are all cowards. I could treble the number in twenty days if I wished. So, you see, those who have in their keeping the reputations of their fellow-citizens, I have in my pay." "They may turn on you," I suggested. He rubbed his thumb over his cropped ears and adjusted the wax substitutes. "I think not," he murmured, thoughtfully, "I seldom have to apply the whip, and then only once. Besides, they like their wages." "How do you apply the whip?" I demanded. His face for a moment was awful to look upon. His eyes dwindled to a pair of green sparks. "I invite them to come and have a little chat with me," he said, in a soft voice. A knock at the door interrupted him, and his face resumed its amiable expression. "Who is it?" he inquired. "Mr. Steylette," was the answer. "Come to-morrow," replied Mr. Wilde. "Impossible," began the other; but was silenced by a sort of bark from Mr. Wilde. "Come to-morrow," he repeated. We heard somebody move away from the door and turn the corner by the stair-way. "Who is that?" I asked. "Arnold Steylette, owner and editor-in-chief of the great New York daily." He drummed on the ledger with his fingerless hand, adding, "I pay him very badly, but he thinks it a good bargain." "Arnold Steylette!" I repeated, amazed. (13)

"Yes," said Mr. Wilde, with a self-satisfied cough. The cat, which had entered the room as he spoke, hesitated, looked up at him, and snarled. He climbed down from the chair, and, squatting on the floor, took the creature into his arms and caressed her. The cat ceased snarling and presently began a loud purring, which seemed to increase in timbre as he stroked her. "Where are the notes?" I asked. He pointed to the table, and for the hundredth time I picked up the bundle of manuscript entitled "the Imperial Dynasty Of America." One by one I studied the well-worn pages, worn only by my own handling, and, although I knew all by heart, from the beginning, "When from Carcosa, the Hyades, Hastur, and Aldebaran," to "Castaigne, Louis de Calvados, born December 19, 1887," I read it with an eager, rapt attention, pausing to repeat parts of it aloud, and dwelling especially on "Hildred de Calvados, only son of Hildred Castaigne and Edythe Landes Castaigne, first in succession," etc., etc. When I finished, Mr. Wilde nodded and coughed. "Speaking of your legitimate ambition," he said, "how do Constance and Louis get along?" "She loves him," I replied, simply. The cat on his knee suddenly turned and struck at his eyes, and he flung her off and climbed on to the chair opposite me. "And Dr. Archer? But that's a matter you can settle any time you wish," he added. "Yes," I replied, "Dr. Archer can wait, but it is time I saw my cousin Louis." "It is time," he repeated. Then he took another ledger from the table and ran over the leaves rapidly. "We are now in communication with ten thousand men," he muttered. "We can count on one hundred thousand within the first twenty-eight hours, and in forty-eight hours the State will rise en masse. The country follows the State, and the portion that will not, I mean California and the Northwest, might better never have been inhabited. I shall not send them the Yellow Sign." (14)

The blood rushed to my head, but I only answered, "A new broom sweeps clean." "The ambition of Cæsar and of Napoleon pales before that which could not rest until it had seized the minds of men and controlled even their unborn thoughts," said Mr. Wilde. "You are speaking of the King in Yellow," I groaned, with a shudder. "He is a king whom emperors have served." "I am content to serve him," I replied. Mr. Wilde sat rubbing his ears with his crippled hand. "Perhaps Constance does not love him," he suggested. I started to reply, but a sudden burst of military music from the street below drowned my voice. The Twentieth Dragoon Regiment, formerly in garrison at Mount St. Vincent, was returning from the manœuvres in Westchester County to its new barracks on East Washington Square. It was my cousin's regiment. They were a fine lot of fellows, in their pale-blue, tight-fitting jackets, jaunty busbies, and white riding-breeches, with the double yellow stripe, into which their limbs seemed moulded. Every other squadron was armed with lances, from the metal points of which fluttered yellow-and-white pennons. The band passed, playing the regimental march, then came the colonel and staff, the horses crowding and trampling, while their heads bobbed in unison, and the pennons fluttered from their lance points. The troopers, who rode with the beautiful English seat, looked brown as berries from their bloodless campaign among the farms of Westchester, and the music of their sabres against the stirrups, and the jingle of spurs and carbines was delightful to me. I saw Louis riding with his squadron. He was as handsome an officer as I have ever seen. Mr. Wilde, who had mounted a chair by the window, saw him, too, but said nothing. Louis turned and looked straight at Hawberk's shop as he passed, and I could see the flush on his brown cheeks. I think Constance must have been at the window. (15)

When the last troopers had clattered by, and the last pennons vanished into South Fifth Avenue, Mr. Wilde clambered out of his chair and dragged the chest away from the door. "Yes," he said, "it is time that you saw your cousin Louis." He unlocked the door and I picked up my hat and stick and stepped into the corridor. The stairs were dark. Groping about, I set my foot on something soft, which snarled and spit, and I aimed a murderous blow at the cat, but my cane shivered to splinters against the balustrade, and the beast scurried back into Mr. Wilde's room. Passing Hawberk's door again, I saw him still at work on the armor, but I did not stop, and, stepping out into Bleecker Street, I followed it to Wooster, skirted the grounds of the Lethal Chamber, and, crossing Washington Park, went straight to my rooms in the Benedick. Here I lunched comfortably, read the Herald and the Meteor, and finally went to the steel safe in my bedroom and set the time combination. The three and three-quarter minutes which it is necessary to wait, while the time lock is opening, are to me golden moments. From the instant I set the combination to the moment when I grasp the knobs and swing back the solid steel doors, I live in an esctasy of expectation. Those moments must be like moments passed in paradise. I know what I am to find at the end of the time limit. I know what the massive safe holds secure for me, for me alone, and the exquisite pleasure of waiting is hardly enhanced when the safe opens and I lift, from its velvet crown, a diadem of purest gold, blazing with diamonds. I do this every day, and yet the joy of waiting and at last touching again the diadem only seems to increase as the days pass. It is a diadem fit for a king among kings, an emperor among emperors. The King in Yellow might scorn it, but it shall be worn by his royal servant. I held it in my arms until the alarm on the safe rang harshly, and then tenderly, proudly I replaced it and shut the steel doors. (16)