d.
Myra would have been his, and they might have been happy.

Was it too late, even now? If he could only reach her ear and tell her
how all stood. She loved him--he knew that. Once with Myra meant till
death, and she would follow him to the world's end.

"And I sit here," he cried, and started from his seat, "when she is
there yonder waiting for me. A word would rouse her from her sleep, if
she does sleep. She may be sitting at her window even now, wakeful and
wretched as I, and ready to trust me, to let me lead her far away from
all this misery and despair. Heaven never could mean us to suffer as we
do. It is a natural prompting. She must be waiting for me now."

The moments of exaltation passed, and he sank down again to bury his
face in his hands, knowing that it was all the madness of a despairing
man.

No; he could do nothing but that which he and Brettison had planned--
nothing but wait for the morning, which was yet hours away.

He grew calmer as the night passed on; firmer, too, and there was a
quiet determination in his thoughts as he felt that some day Myra would
know all that he had done, and perhaps, after all, happiness might be
theirs.

For hope came with the approach of day, and when at last the first pale
dawn appeared in the east, and by degrees there was a delicious
opalescent tint on the waves, where a soft breeze was slowly wafting
away the mist, it was a calm, grave, thoughtful man, nerved to the day's
task, who went forth with the knowledge that the people of the inn were
already stirring, for, as he stepped out, a casement was opened, and the
landlady greeted him with the customary _bon jour_.

Stratton returned the greeting, and told her his requirements--a sailing
boat and men to take him and his friends for a good long cruise.

"Ah, yes!" said the landlady; "of course, and monsieur would pay them
well,"--and at another time there were Jacques, and Jean, and Andre, and
many more who would have been so glad--for it was going to be a day
superb: look at the light on the water like the silver and sheen upon a
mackerel, to prove her words--but the hands went out last night, and
would not return in time from the fishing.

"But was there no one else?"

"Not a soul, monsieur. Why, there was a great nobleman--an old sea
admiral--English, at the little chateau who had sent only last night,
wanting a boat to sail with the beautiful ladies he had brought, one of
whom was a stately old