houlder. The smoke cleared--Ferrari
still stood erect, opposite to me, staring straight forward with the
same frantic faroff look--the pistol had dropped from his hand.
Suddenly he threw up his arms--shuddered--and with a smothered groan
fell, face forward, prone on the sward. The surgeon hurried to his side
and turned him so that he lay on his back. He was unconscious--though
his dark eyes were wide open, and turned blindly upward to the sky. The
front of his shirt was already soaked with blood. We all gathered round
him.

"A good shot?" inquired the marquis, with the indifference of a
practiced duelist.

"Ach! a good shot indeed!" replied the little German doctor, shaking
his head as he rose from his examination of the wound. "Excellent! He
will be dead in ten minutes. The bullet has passed through the lungs
close to the heart. Honor is satisfied certainly!"

At that moment a deep anguished sigh parted the lips of the dying man.
Sense and speculation returned to those glaring eyes so awfully
upturned. He looked upon us all doubtfully one after the other--till
finally his gaze rested upon me. Then he grew strangely excited--his
lips moved--he eagerly tried to speak. The doctor, watchful of his
movements, poured brandy between his teeth. The cordial gave him
momentary strength--he raised himself by a supreme effort.

"Let me speak," he gasped faintly, "to HIM!" And he pointed to me--then
he continued to mutter like a man in a dream--"to
him--alone--alone!--to him alone!"

The others, slightly awed by his manner, drew aside out of ear-shot,
and I advanced and knelt beside him, stooping my face between his and
the morning sky. His wild eyes met mine with a piteous beseeching
terror.

"In God's name," he whispered, thickly, "WHO ARE YOU?"

"You know me, Guido!" I answered, steadily. "I am Fabio Romani, whom
you once called friend! I am he whose wife you stole!--whose name you
slandered!--whose honor you despised! Ah! look at me well! your own
heart tells you who I am!"

He uttered a low moan and raised his hand with a feeble gesture.

"Fabio? Fabio?" he gasped. "He died--I saw him in his coffin--"

I leaned more closely over him. "I was BURIED ALIVE," I said with
thrilling distinctness. "Understand me, Guido--buried alive! I
escaped--no matter how. I came home--to learn your treachery and my own
dishonor! Shall I tell you more?"

A terrible shudder shook his frame--his head moved restlessly to and
fro, the s