he did see a figure wrapped in a cloak, gliding in and out among the
people, unnoticed, if not unseen.

"'Who is it?' Melchior asked of the godfather.

"'A friend of mine,' Time answered. 'His name is Death.'

"Melchior shuddered, more especially as the figure had now come up to
the coach, and put its hand in through the window, on which, to his
horror, the lame sister laid hers and smiled. At this moment the
coach stopped.

"'What are you doing?' shrieked Melchior, 'Drive on! drive on!'

"But even while he sprang up to seize the check-string the door had
opened, the pale sister's face (a little paler now) had dropped upon
the shoulder of the figure in the cloak, and he had carried her away;
and Melchior stormed and raved in vain.

"'To take her, and to leave the rest! Cruel! cruel!'

"In his rage and grief, he hardly knew it when the untidy brother was
called, and putting his book under his arm, slipped out of the coach
without looking to the right or left. Presently the coach stopped
again; and when Melchior looked up the door was open, and at it was
the fine man on the fine horse, who was lifting the sister on to the
saddle before him. 'What fool's game are you playing?' said Melchior,
angrily. 'I know that man. He is both ill-tempered and a bad
character.'