way from them and hurried down the Gulch. The others followed
hard after, the Sheriff and the warders close behind; but he outstripped
them.

Suddenly he stopped and stood still, looking at something on the ground.
They saw him lean forwards and his hands stretch out with a fierce
gesture. It was the attitude of a wild animal ready to spring.

They were beside him in an instant, and saw at his feet Bignold worn to
a skeleton, with eyes starting from his head, and fixed on Grassette in
agony and stark fear.

The Sheriff stooped to lift Bignold up, but Grassette waved them back
with a fierce gesture, standing over the dying man.

"He spoil my home. He break me--I have my bill to settle here," he said
in a voice hoarse and harsh. "It is so? It is so--eh? Spik!" he said to
Bignold.

"Yes," came feebly from the shrivelled lips. "Water! Water!" the
wretched man gasped. "I'm dying!"

A sudden change came over Grassette. "Water--queeck!" he said.

The Sheriff stooped and held a hatful of water to Bignold's lips, while
another poured brandy from a flask into the water.

Grassette watched them eagerly. When the dying man had swallowed a
little of the spirit and water, Grassette leaned over him again, and
the others drew away. They realised that these two men had an account to
settle, and there was no need for Grassette to take revenge, for Bignold
was going fast.

"You stan' far back," said Grassette, and they fell away.

Then he stooped down to the sunken, ashen face, over which death was
fast drawing its veil. "Marcile--where is Marcile?" he asked.

The dying man's lips opened. "God forgive me--God save my soul!" he
whispered. He was not concerned for Grassette now.

"Queeck-queeck, where is Marcile?" Grassette said sharply. "Come back,
Bignold. Listen--where is Marcile?"

He strained to hear the answer. Bignold was going, but his eyes opened
again, however, for this call seemed to pierce to his soul as it
struggled to be free.

"Ten years--since--I saw her," he whispered. "Good girl--Marcile. She
loves you, but she--is afraid." He tried to say something more, but his
tongue refused its office.

"Where is she-spik!" commanded Grassette in a tone of pleading and agony
now.

Once more the flying spirit came back. A hand made a motion towards his
pocket, then lay still.

Grassette felt hastily in the dead man's pocket, drew forth a letter,
and with half-blinded eyes read the few lines it contained. It was dat