an, the two others were a couple of
_gendarmes_ and another fisher, and the two officers threw themselves
into the fray, with the result that the next minute Dale was firmly
secured and held.

"This is the man, then," panted one of the officers.

"Yes," said the fisherman from the cottage. "I say he tried to strangle
this gentleman in the night at my place. Look at his throat."

"It is quite true," said Brettison.

"And you told us, monsieur," cried the fisherman reproachfully, "that
your friend was imbecile, and that we need not fear."

"Yes," said Brettison sadly. "I was wrong, but I have been punished for
my sin. Malcolm Stratton," he continued, turning to his friend, who
stood there with his breast heaving still, and gazing wildly at Myra,
who met his eyes with a piteous look, mingled of gratitude, sorrow, and
despair, "I call upon you for the sake of all here to denounce this man
to the officers."

"I cannot," said Stratton, with a quick look from Myra to Sir Mark and
back. "That task shall never be mine."

"Will monsieur say those words in French?" said the officer who had
spoken before, and who was busy brushing the sand from his uniform. "I
understand English a little, but I cannot trust myself at a time like
this."

"Forgive me, then, Sir Mark," said Brettison firmly, and speaking now in
excellent French, "and you, too, my child," he said, taking and kissing
Myra's hand. "I have tried for your sake and that of the man I love as
a son to spare you pain, but the time has come when this must end.
Officers, this man, an imbecile save at rare intervals, when he has
these violent homicidal fits, is James Barron, or Dale, a convict
escaped from one of the English pris--"

Myra uttered a wild cry and hid her face on her aunt's breast.

"Brettison!" roared Stratton.

"Mr Brettison, have you taken leave of your senses?" cried Sir Mark.
"James Barron!"

"Bah!" said the convict, "the game is up. Henderson's my name, Sam
Henderson, James Barron's fellow-prisoner and mate. Poor old Dandy Jem
was shot dead that night! Where's Stratton?" he cried, with a curious
change coming over him. "Ah! there. Now, man, no shuffling. The
game's in my hands, you know. Come, pay up like a man. They're waiting
for you--at the church--my wife--what's her name--pretty Myra--my mate
Jem's widow--gentleman James, sir--all the swell--but I did it--I
engraved the notes."

He smiled and chuckled.

"Proud of them. P