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 blotch of black upon his bright military coat, to indicate the manner of his death. I could see little of his countenance, yet quite enough of it to identify him plainly. Despite the slight distortion his features had undergone in the throes of death, there was no ground for doubt that it was the Captain's body that lay stone cold in the grass. There was his figure, his uniform, his powdered hair, his large, fat nose, and the heavy bandages around one knee to convince me that I had been a most pitiable fool. What a passionate grief had I lavished on a foe! And yet, poor wretch—poor wretch! We forgive all things to the dead.

It was now that my feelings underwent a very wonderful revulsion. The knowledge that, after all, it was our declared enemy who was dead, and that the man, my lover, whom he had hunted so long and so remorselessly, was alive and at large, reinspired me with energy and hope. A vision of freedom for the fugitive and a consummation of that which I so ardently desired, took me to the house with the swiftness of the wind. If young Anthony had had the folly not to seize his chance of escape already, it remained for me to make him do so.

When I arrived the household was astir. Two of the Captain's men stood talking on the lawn with faces of much gravity. It was plain that the absence of their leader was already known, but judging by their demeanour I thought it scarcely likely that they had heard the tidings of his end. As I entered the hall, my thoughts were wholly for the