t the gleam of it on Aunt Jeanne's polished milk-can. I
know not what he thought it. Possibly his nerves were overstrung with what
he had been going through. With an oath he dropped the tinder, and snatched
out a pistol, and fired in the direction of the can. And as the blaze lit
up the great black bulk of him I stood up quickly and fired also,--and,
before God, I think I was justified, for it was his life or ours.

The place bellowed with the shots, and the air was thick with smoke and the
sharp smell of powder. No sound came from the floor, and I stood holding
the pistol by the muzzle to strike him down again if he should rise. But he
did not move, and my fears were not for him.

"Carette!" I cried. "Carette!"

And my love rose suddenly with a cry and fell sobbing into my arms.

"Oh, Phil! Phil! What is it? I thought you were dead."

"Dieu merci, it is he who is dead, I think. We will see," and I managed a
light with my flint and steel and knelt down by the fallen man.

"Who is it?" asked Carette, breathless still.

"It is Monsieur Torode."

"Torode!" she gasped, and bent with me to make sure. "Bon Dieu, how came
he here?"

"That I don't know. This seems not the hiding-place Uncle George supposed.
I was wakened by his trying to strike a light, and I thought he was a
ghost."

I hoped he was dead, and so an end to all our fears from him. But I found
him still breathing, though but faintly, and he had not his senses. I
dragged him across to my bed and sought for his wound, and found it at last
in the head. Either the old pistol had cast high, or my sudden up-jump, or
his down-bending, had upset my aim. For the shot had entered the side of
his head at the back, just above the ear, and as I could find no hole
whence it had issued it was probably in his head still. The wound had bled
very little, but beyond his slow, heavy breathing he gave no sign of life.

On the floor, where he had fallen, I found a seaman's torch, which had been
lighted but was now sodden with water. He had probably dropped it or
dragged it in some pool as he made his way into the cave.

And, now that the hot anger and the fear of the man were out of me, and he
lay under my hand helpless to do us further harm, I found myself ready to
do what I could for him, since, unfortunately, he was not dead.

I took Uncle George at his word and broached one of his little kegs, and
found it most excellent French cognac, and mixing some with water in the