I placed the oaken box of jewels in the leathern case which had been made to contain it, strapped and locked it, and handed it to him together with its key.

He was profuse in his compliments and thanks--almost obsequious, in truth--and I discovered another defect in his character--a defect which, as his friend in former days, I had guessed nothing of.

I saw that very little encouragement would make him a toady--a fawning servitor on the wealthy--and in our old time of friendship I had believed him to be far above all such meanness, but rather of a manly, independent nature that scorned hypocrisy.

Thus we are deluded even by our nearest and dearest--and is it well or ill for us, I wonder, when we are at last undeceived?
Is not the destruction of illusion worse than illusion itself?
I thought so, as my quondam friend clasped my hand in farewell that morning.

What would I not have given to believe in him as I once did! I held open the door of my room as he passed out, carrying the box of jewels for my wife, and as I bade him a brief adieu, the well-worn story of Tristram and Kind Mark came to my mind.