I.
Ten centuries and one had trod
Jerusalem, since when,
In mortal form, the Son of God
Died for the sons of men.
II.
And they who in the Martyr found
Their Saviour, wailed and wept,
That gorgeous horrors should abound
Where Christ the Blessèd slept.
III.
From clam'rous towns, and forests' hush.
As cascades from the gloom
Of caves, crusaders eastward rush
To win the holy tomb.
IV.
Their corselets, steel and silver bright,
'Neath swaying plumes displayed,
Now dance, like streams, in lines of light.
Now loiter on in shade.
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V.
Their crosses glow in every form
Inspiring vale and mart,
As through earth's arteries they swarm,
Like blood back to the heart.
VI.
Tis mid-day of midsummer's heat;
Faith crowns the live and dead:
Jerusalem is at their feet.
Brave Godfrey at their head.
VII.
Within the walls, the ramparts ring
As proudly they proclaim
Great Godfrey de Bouillon as king!
A king in more than name.
VIII.
The ruby-budding crown to bind
About his head, they stood:
Another crown is in his mind;
For rubies, blobs of blood.
IX.
"No. no!" and back the bauble flings,
"No gold this brow adorns
Where willed He, Christ, the King of kings,
To wear a crown of thorns."
X.
Let not the glorious truth depart
Brave Godfrey handed down:
A king whose crown is in his heart,
Needs wear no other crown.
From The Lamp
UNCONVICTED;
OR, OLD THORNELEY'S HEIRS.
CHAPTER VII.
THE READING OF THE WILL.
Nearing the brink of a discovery, yet dreading to approach the edge, lest a false step should precipitate you into a chaos of darkness; holding the end of an intricate web in your hand, yet not daring to follow the lead, lest you should lose yourself in its mazes--so I felt on the morning succeeding my visit with Detective Jones to Blue-Anchor Lane; so, likewise, had that astute officer and faithful friend expressed himself when we had parted the night before.
"You see, sir," he said, "the whole of what we have gathered this evening may only mean that Mr. Wilmot has got mixed up with this De Vos or Sullivan in some-gambling transaction, who, hearing that he's left sole heir to poor Thorneley's fortune, means to hold whatever knowledge he possesses as a threat over him to extort money. Then, as to what passed at 'Noah's Ark,' why, it may mean a good deal, and it may just mean nothing, as not referring to the parties we know of. I don't wish to raise your hopes, sir; and until I've consulted with Inspector Keene and seen what he's ferreted out, I wouldn't like to say that we'd gained as much as I thought we should from our move tonight."
On my table I found a broad black-bordered letter. It was a formal invitation on the part of Lister Wilmot, as sole executor, to attend old Thorneley's funeral on the following Tuesday.
The intervening days were dark, and blank with the blankness of despair. Vigilant, energetic, and penetrating as was that secret, silent search of the detectives, no real clue was found to the mystery of the murdered man's death; no light thrown upon the black page in the history of that fatal Tuesday evening, save what our own miserable suspicions or fallacious hopes suggested. De Vos had entirely disappeared from the scene, leaving no truce of his whereabouts. Wilmot's public movements, though closely watched by the lynx-eyed functionaries of the law, were perfectly satisfactory: and the housekeeper remained closeted in her own room, intent, apparently, upon making up her mourning garments for her late master, and fairly baffling Inspector Keene in his insidious attempts to elicit a word further, or at variance to what she stated at the inquest, by her cool, collected, and straightforward replies to his 'cute cross-questioning. And yet, in concluding the short interviews between Mr. Inspector and Merrivale, at which I was generally present, after a silent scrape at his chin, and a hungry crop at his nails, he would still repeat with a certain little air of quiet confidence, "Good-day, gentlemen. I think I am on the scent."