In your magnanimity you feel for the key, but it is not in its accustomed place.  Try your pockets; still in vain!  Startled, you turn to the table, and feel carefully over it from end to end.  You raise the heavy chair like a feather, and shake it bottom downwards.  Nothing falls.  You are down on your knees groping affrighted amongst the dust and rubbish of the floor.  The key is lost!  You spring up,—­briskly enough now,—­and stand with your long fingers working against one another, trying to think.  That key,—­where had you it last?—­

A blank whirl is your memory,—­nothing stands clearly out.  How came you here?  With whom did you speak just now?  What was said?—­Two persons there seemed to be, oddly combined in one,—­most unfamiliar in their familiarity.  Or was it your evil genius, Manetho? who by devilish artifice has at this last hour shut the door against your first good impulse; locked the door against soul and body; shut you in and carried off the key of your salvation.

Do not give way yet; review your situation carefully.—­Your voice would be inaudible through these massive walls, were the listener but a yard away.—­Be quick with your thinking, for the unmitigable minutes are dying fast and forever.—­Were it known that you were here, could you be got out?  No, for the secret of the door is known only to yourself.  Those who once shared the knowledge with you are dead, or many years gone!  Your evil genius no doubt knows it, and all your secrets; but dream not that she will liberate you.  She has been awaiting this opportunity.  You shall remain here to-night and many nights.  Your bones shall lie gaunt on this cobwebbed floor.  Only the daily sunbeam shall know of your tomb.  And Gnulemah?...

Your knees falter beneath you, and you sink in wretched tears to the floor,—­tears that bring no drop of comfort.  To be shut up alone with a soul like yours, at the moment when the sin so long tampered with has escaped your control, and is pitilessly doing its devilish work on the other side your prison-walls, near, yet inaccessible,—­who can measure the horror of it?  Till now you have made your will the law of right and wrong, and read your life by no higher light than your own.  You read it otherwise to-night, lying here helpless and alone.  That lost key has unlocked the fair front of your complacency and revealed the wizened deformity behind it.  You have been insane; but the anguish that would craze a sane man clears the mist from your reason.  You behold the truth at last; but as the drowning man sees the ship pass on and leave him.

But we care not to watch too curiously the writhings of your imprisoned soul, Manetho; the less, because we doubt whether the agony will be of benefit to you.  Forgiveness of enemies is perhaps beyond your scope; even your rage to save Gnulemah was kindled chiefly by your impotence to do so.  God forbid we do you less than justice! but hope seems dim for such as you; nor will a death-bed repentance, however sincere, avail to wipe away the sins of a lifetime.  Jealousy of Balder, rather than desire for Gnulemah’s eternal weal, awoke your conscience.  For the thought of their spending life in happy ignorance of their true relationship inflames—­does not allay—­your agony!