deposed and that chest became the sultana in my seraglio of beauteous
things. The clock had only been the light love of an hour. Here was
the eternal queen, that is, unless there existed a still better chest
somewhere else, and I should happen to find it. Meanwhile, whatever
price that old slave-dealer Potts wanted for it, must be paid to him
even if I had to overdraw my somewhat slender account. Seraglios, of
whatever sort, it must be remembered, are expensive luxuries of the rich
indeed, though, if of antiques, they can be sold again, which cannot be
said of the human kind for who wants to buy a lot of antique frumps?

There were plenty of things in the chest, such as some odds and ends of
tapestry and old clothes of a Queen Anne character, put here, no doubt,
for preservation, as moth does not like this cypress wood. Also there
were some books and a mysterious bundle tied up in a curious shawl with
stripes of colour running through it. That bundle excited me, and I drew
the fringes of the shawl apart and looked in. So far as I could see it
contained another dress of rich colours, also a thick packet of what
looked like parchment, badly prepared and much rotted upon one side
as though by damp, which parchment appeared to be covered with faint
black-letter writing, done by some careless scribe with poor ink that
had faded very much. There were other things, too, within the shawl,
such as a box made of some red foreign wood, but I had not time to
investigate further for just then I heard old Potts's foot upon the
stair, and thought it best to replace the bundle. He arrived with the
lantern and by its light we examined the chest and the poker work.

"Very nice," I said, "very nice, though a good deal knocked about."

"Yes, sir," he replied with sarcasm, "I suppose you'd like to see it
neat and new after four hundred years of wear, and if so, I think I can