The knife was of a make unknown in the alley and only to be found in the possession of a man to whom money is no object and who could well afford to follow his own fancies in the design of his favorite paper cutter, for such the weapon evidently was.
Long, narrow and sharply pointed, the blade was of finest silver, handsomely engraved, and the ebony handle shone resplendent with gems, so placed as to form on the polished surface the initials M. S. in dazzling characters.
Have pity, Reader,'twas the fire Of human passion in her brain,-- First, youth's impulsive, mad desire, Then love, and love's devouring pain.
Some two years previous to the incidents of our opening chapter, in a quiet house situated on G--St., in the vicinity of Belmont Square, an aged couple sat quietly talking, while the shadows fell longer and darker about the room, and the increased tread of passing feet spoke plainly of the end of another day of that weary labor that fell to the lot of the large number of tradespeople who lived in this row of modest houses.
The aged couple mentioned were occupying the two narrow windows that faced the crowded thoroughfare, and the two faces were pressed anxiously against the glass, while the old eyes peered eagerly up and down, over and across in a careful search for the one of whom they had been quietly speaking.
There was silence for a little while and then the old man leaned back in his chair and, while wiping the moisture from his glasses with a generous square of cambric, said querulously:
"It is mighty strange, Marthy, where Lizzie is. She ought to be home before this."
"I know it, father," responded his wife meekly. "She's been acting very strange of late, staying away from home and coming in at all hours as dragged out as if she had been walking the streets for miles."
"Maybe that's what she does," snapped the old man, and then, as if ashamed of his hasty words, he added in a softer tone: "Though why she should do that I can't see. She's got a good home here with us and has had ever since our poor Mary died and left us our grandchild in the place of our child to care for and protect."
"And we've done both, father," said the old lady, gently. "Lizzie has no need to seek pleasure outside her own home, what, with the rooms to look after, her books, her piano and her needle work, she ought to be pretty well contented."