you have no greater claim to it--nay, not so great--as any other
person. I cannot give it back."

Nor could the entreaties of the miserable man--who saw before his
eyes the jewel of his life without the power to reclaim it--soften
the heart of this stern being, impassive to human sympathy, though
exercising such an apparent influence over human fortunes. Finally
the loser of the inestimable pearl clutched his hands among his
hair, and ran madly forth into the world, which was affrighted at
his desperate looks. There passed him on the doorstep a fashionable
young gentleman, whose business was to inquire for a damask rosebud,
the gift of his lady-love, which he had lost out of his buttonhole
within a hour after receiving it. So various were the errands of
those who visited this Central Office, where all human wishes seemed
to be made known, and, so far as destiny would allow, negotiated to
their fulfilment.

The next that entered was a man beyond the middle age, bearing the
look of one who knew the world and his own course in it. He had
just alighted from a handsome private carriage, which had orders to
wait in the street while its owner transacted his business. This
person came up to the desk with a quick, determined step, and looked
the Intelligencer in the face with a resolute eye; though, at the
same time, some secret trouble gleamed from it in red and dusky
light.

"I have an estate to dispose of," said he, with a brevity that
seemed characteristic.

"Describe it," said the Intelligencer.