nd the barrier of purple cloud,
passing away from earth.

"Two!"

Again the single word dropped out upon the stillness, marking the flight
of the seconds; again the hoot of the cicada echoed it, laughing
hideously from its noisome marsh.

And the sun sank slowly, still slowly, nearer and nearer to its shroud
of mist, bearing with it all that lingered of the day.

"Three!"

The white death-signal flickered in the breeze, and the last golden rays
of the sun were still above the edge of the storm-cloud.

There was yet time.

But the warning was not read: there was the assassin's devilish greed
within Strathmore's soul, the assassin's devilish smile upon his lips;
the calmness of his face never changed, the tranquil pulse of his wrist
never quickened, the remorseless gleam of his eyes never softened. It
was for him to fire first, and the doom written in his look never
relaxed. He turned--in seeming carelessness, as you may turn to aim at
carrion bird--but his shot sped home.

One moment Erroll stood erect, his fair hair blowing in the wind, his
eyes full open to the light; then--he reeled slightly backward, raised
his right arm, and fired in the air! The bullet flew far and harmless
amidst the forest foliage, his arm dropped, and without sign or sound he
fell down upon the sodden turf, his head striking against the earth with
a dull echo, his hands drawing up the rank herbage by the roots, as they
closed convulsively in one brief spasm.

He was shot through the heart.

And the sun sank out of sight, leaving a dusky, sultry gloom to brood
over the noxious brakes and sullen stagnant waters, leaving the world to
Night, as fitting watch and shroud of Crime; and those who stood there
were stricken with a ghastly horror, were paralysed by a vague and
sudden awe, for they knew that they were in the presence of death, and
that the hand which had dealt it was the hand of his chosen friend. But
he, who had slain him, more coldly, more pitilessly than the merciful
amongst us would slay a dog, stood unmoved in the shadow, with his
ruthless calm, his deadly serenity, which had no remorse as it had had
no mercy, while about his lips there was a cold and evil smile, and in
his eyes gleamed the lurid flame of a tiger's triumph--the triumph when
it has tasted blood, and slaked its thirst in life.

_"Voyez!--il est mort!"_

The words, uttered in his ear by Valdor, were hoarse and almost
tremulous; but he heard and assented to