was then without practice, and whom he had employed as an assistant in
certain chemical experiments.

Here a gentleman struck into the conversation. He was a stranger to me
and to L----, a visitor to one of the dwellers on the Hill, who had asked
leave to present him to its queen as a great traveller and an accomplished
antiquary.

Said this gentleman: "Sir Philip Derval? I know him. I met him in the
East. He was then still, I believe, very fond of chemical science; a
clever, odd, philanthropical man; had studied medicine, or at least
practised it; was said to have made many marvellous cures. I became
acquainted with him in Aleppo. He had come to that town, not much
frequented by English travellers, in order to inquire into the murder of
two men, of whom one was his friend and the other his countryman."

"This is interesting," said Mrs. Poyntz, dryly. "We who live on this
innocent Hill all love stories of crime; murder is the pleasantest subject
you could have hit on. Pray give us the details."

"So encouraged," said the traveller, good-humouredly, "I will not hesitate
to communicate the little I know. In Aleppo there had lived for some
years a man who was held by the natives in great reverence. He had the
reputation of extraordinary wisdom, but was difficult of access; the
lively imagination of the Orientals invested his character with the
fascinations of fable,--in short, Haroun of Aleppo was popularly
considered a magician. Wild stories were told of his powers, of his
preternatural age, of his hoarded treasures. Apart from such disputable
titles to homage, there seemed no question, from all I heard, that his
learning was considerable, his charities extensive, his manner of life