scared eyes at
the prostrate form. "You have killed him, Monsieur Henri."

"Yes. It is a great pity. After all, he merely thought a little too well
of himself and was a little inconsiderate of other people's feelings.
But who is not so, more or less? Poor young man!"

"Ah, but think of us, Monsieur Henri--think of yourself, I mean! We had
better be going, or you will have to answer for this."

"That is so. We must settle with the landlord and get away from this
town before this gentleman is missed."

"And alas! you arranged to stay all night. The landlord will be sure to
smell something. Come, I beg of you: there's not a moment to lose. Think
what there's to do--the bag to fetch down, the horse and mule to saddle.
We shall be lucky if the officers aren't after us before we're out of
the town."

"You are right.--Poor young man! At least I will cover his face with his
doublet before I go."

"I'll do that, Monsieur. You put on your own doublet, and save time."

I did so. As Nicolas ran past me with the slain man's doublet, something
fell out of the pocket of it. This proved to be a folded piece of paper,
like a letter, but with no name outside. I picked it up. Fancying it
might give a clue to my victim's identity, and as the seal was broken, I
opened it. There was some writing, in the hand of a woman,--two lines
only:

"_For heaven's sake and pity's, come to me at once. My life and honour
depend on you alone._"

As the missive was without address, so was it without signature. It must
have been delivered by some confidential messenger who knew the
recipient, and yet by whom a verbal message was either not thought
expedient, or required to be confirmed by the written appeal. The
recipient must be familiar with the sender's handwriting. The note
looked fresh and clean, and therefore must have been very lately
received.

"Come, Monsieur Henri," called Nicolas, breaking in upon my whirling
thoughts. "Why do you wait?--What is the matter? What do you see on that
paper?"

"And this," I answered, though of course Nicolas could not understand
me, "is the business he was on! This is why he had need to put ground
behind him. He was going on to-night. He must have stopped only to
refresh his horses."

"Yes, certainly, but what of that? What has his business to do with us?"

"I have prevented his carrying it out. My God!--a woman's life and
honour--a woman who relies on him--and now she will wait for him in
vain! At t