d, leaned on his elbow, holding
his hand pressed to his side. The blood still gushed through his
fingers. I flew to him, for the Holy circle did not now keep me back;
so did the two doctors. Jonathan knelt behind him and the wounded man
laid back his head on his shoulder. With a sigh he took, with a
feeble effort, my hand in that of his own which was unstained.

He must have seen the anguish of my heart in my face, for he smiled at
me and said, "I am only too happy to have been of service! Oh, God!"
he cried suddenly, struggling to a sitting posture and pointing to me.
"It was worth for this to die! Look! Look!"

The sun was now right down upon the mountain top, and the red gleams
fell upon my face, so that it was bathed in rosy light. With one
impulse the men sank on their knees and a deep and earnest "Amen"
broke from all as their eyes followed the pointing of his finger.

The dying man spoke, "Now God be thanked that all has not been in
vain! See! The snow is not more stainless than her forehead! The
curse has passed away!"

And, to our bitter grief, with a smile and in silence, he died, a
gallant gentleman.

NOTE

Seven years ago we all went through the flames. And the happiness of
some of us since then is, we think, well worth the pain we endured.
It is an added joy to Mina and to me that our boy's birthday is the
same day as that on which Quincey Morris died. His mother holds, I
know, the secret belief that some of our brave friend's spirit has
passed into him. His bundle of names links all our little band of men
together. But we call him Quincey.

In the summer of this year we made a journey to Transylvania, and went
over the old ground which was, and is, to us so full of vivid and
terrible memories. It was almost impossible to believe that the
things which we had seen with our own eyes and heard with our own ears
were living truths. Every trace of all that had been was blotted
out. The castle stood as before, reared high above a waste of
desolation.

When we got home we were talking of the old time, which we could all
look back on without despair, for Godalming and Seward are both
happily married. I took the papers from the safe where they had been
ever since our return so long ago. We were struck with the fact, that
in all the mass of material of which the record is composed, there is
hardly one authentic document. Nothing but a mass of typewriting,
except the later not