ce or twice, then opened his large blue eyes, and
looked fixedly on me; oh, with such a beautiful soft expression. I am
sure he felt no pain, he seemed perfectly easy in body and mind; it was
a comfort even then, to be sure of this. "It's no use, Mrs
Englefield," he murmured, bringing out each word very slowly; "No use,
thank you; I'm going--best I should go--I should have done no credit to
the house--tell Laurie, with my love--now farewell--God bless you--and
me too--and I think He will." His head dropped on my arm at that last
word, and he added no more; I believe the angels were coming for him
then.

Don't cry, my dear children; perhaps had John lived to grow grey, there
might have been greater and truer cause to weep for him.

I did not speak or move for some time, for life seemed still flickering
about the parted lips. At length the stillness could not be mistaken,
and I laid his head softly on a mossy stone, and closed his eyes; then I
looked round and saw Basil leaning against the rock, watching me with an
expression of sullen misery in his face. My heart smote me, for after
all he had never intended to hurt John, and it had been partly the poor
fellow's reckless way of snatching his weapon that had caused this
calamity; still, I felt too much revolted by the cold-blooded attempt on
the Turk's life, to speak to him with calmness, so we remained aloof and
silent.

A great stir now arose on the hillside, and I saw a large party of the
mountaineers returning from their raid against the Turks with every mark
of triumph. Presently, a number of them turned in our direction. Many
glittering dark eyes rested on our mournful group with curiosity,
wonder, or pity. I felt abashed at first, and was considering how I
could enlist their help in carrying the body to a place of shelter near
Laurie's hut, when I saw the crowd open. To my great joy, an officer in
European dress came forward, exclaiming "Is it possible? you, Mrs
Englefield, here?" then, seeing my bloodstained hands and cloak, he
added, "and hurt, I fear?" and he was at my side in a moment. With
unspeakable comfort, I recognised Captain Blundel, an Englishman, in the
Austrian engineer service, who had dined with us several times at
Cattaro. My husband liked him particularly, and their acquaintance
seemed in the way to become a friendship, when Captain Blundel had been
ordered up the country in order to survey some part of it for a
government map. I so