other object in the room, was overlaid with fine dust. A bed, with
embroidered coverlet and heavy silken curtains, stood in a deep recess to
the left of the cabinet. Upon the table lay a number of papers and
parchments, some tied up in bundles, others lying about in disorder. One
was spread open, with a pen thrown down upon it, and an antique ink-horn
standing near; and upon a stand beside the bed was a gold-enamelled
snuff-box, with its lid up, and containing, doubtless, the dusty remnant
of some George II. rappee.

At all these things Archibald gazed in thoughtful silence. This room had
been left, at a moment's warning, generations ago; since then this strange
dry air had been breathed by no human nostrils, these various objects had
remained untouched and motionless; nothing but time had dwelt in the
chamber; and yet what a change, subtle but mighty, had been wrought! Mere
stillness--mere absence of life--was an appalling thing, the boy thought.
And why had this secret been suffered to pass into oblivion? And why had
fate selected him to discover it? And now, what use would he make of it?
"At all events," said the boy to himself, "it has become my secret, and
shall remain mine; and no fear but the occasion will come when I shall
know what use to make of it." He felt that meanwhile it would give him
power, security, wealth also if he should ever have occasion for it; and
with a curious sentiment of pride he saw himself thus mystically
designated as the true heir of Malmaison--the only one of his age and
generation who had been permitted to stand on an equality with those
historic and legendary ancestors, to whom the secret of this chamber had
given the name and fame of wizards. Henceforth Archibald was as much a
wizard as they.

Or, might there after all be a power in necromancy that he yet dreamed not
of? Was it possible that even now those old enchanters held their meetings