of the northern races in its mold.

Cecil never saw it; he was looking at the east, at the deepening of the
morning flush that was the signal of his slaughter, and his head was
turned away.

The newcomer went straight to the adjutant in command, and addressed him
with brief preface, hurriedly and low.

"Your prisoner is Victor of the Chasseurs?--he is to be shot this
morning?"

The officer assented; he suffered the interruption, recognizing the rank
of the speaker.

"I heard of it yesterday; I rode all night from Oran. I feel great pity
for this man, though he is unknown to me," the stranger pursued, in
rapid, whispered words. "His crime was--"

"A blow to his colonel, monsieur."

"And there is no possibility of a reprieve?"

"None."

"May I speak with him an instant? I have heard it said that he is of my
country, and of a rank above his standing in his regiment here."

"You may address him, M. le Duc; but be brief. Time presses."

He thanked the officer for the unusual permission, and turned to
approach the prisoner. At that moment Cecil turned also, and their eyes
met. A great, shuddering cry broke from them both; his head sank as
though the bullet had already pierced his breast, and the man who
believed him dead stood gazing at him, paralyzed with horror.

For a moment there was an awful silence. Then the Seraph's voice rang
out with a terror in it that thrilled through the careless, callous
hearts of the watching soldiery.

"Who is that man? He died--he died so long ago! And yet----"

Cecil's head was sunk on his chest; he never spoke, he never moved; he
knew the helpless, hopeless misery that waited for the one who found
him living only to find him also standing before his open grave. He
saw nothing; he only felt the crushing force of his friend's arms flung
round him, as though seizing him to learn whether he were a living man
or a spector dreamed of in delirium.

"Who are you? Answer me, for pity's sake!"

As the swift, hoarse, incredulous words poured on his ear, he, not
seeking to unloose the other's hold, lifted his head and looked full
in the eyes that had not met his own for twelve long years. In that one
look all was uttered; the strained, eager, doubting eyes that read their
answer in it needed no other.

"You live still! Oh! thank God--thank God!"

And as the thanksgiving escaped him, he forgot all save the breathless
joy of this resurrection; forgot that at their feet the yawning