his bashfully retreating nose. This done, he again looked at himself
with increased satisfaction, and, putting by his pocket-mirror, rang
the bell. It was answered at once by a tall, strongly built woman,
with a colorless, stolid countenance,--that might have been carved
out of wood for any expression it had in it.

"Ulrika," said Mr. Dyceworthy blandly, "you can clear the table."

Ulrika, without answering, began to pack the tea-things together in
a methodical way, without clattering so much as a plate or spoon,
and, piling them compactly on a tray, was about to leave the room,
when Mr. Dyceworthy called to her, "Ulrika!"

"Sir?"

"Did you ever see a thing like this before?" and he held up the
crucifix to her gaze.

The woman shuddered, and her dull eyes lit up with a sudden terror.

"It is the witch's charm!" she muttered thickly, while her pale face
grew yet paler. "Burn it, sir!--burn it, and the power will leave
her."

Mr. Dyceworthy laughed indulgently. "My good woman, you mistake," he
said suavely. "Your zeal for the true gospel leads you into error.
There are thousands of misguided persons who worship such a thing as
this. It is often all of our dear Lord they know. Sad, very sad! But
still, though they, alas! are not of the elect, and are plainly
doomed to perdition,--they are not precisely what are termed