ed himself away from Mary's arm, and flung himself on his trusted
friend. "Hector, I'm in danger! They're after me! They'll shut me up!"

Beaumaroy put his strong arms about the frail old body. "Oh no, sir, oh,
no!" he said in low, comforting, half-bantering tones. "That's the old
foolishness, sir, if I may so say. You're perfectly safe with me. You
ought to trust me by now, sir, really you ought."

"You swear, you swear it's all right, Hector?"

"Right as rain, sir," Beaumaroy assured him cheerfully.

Very feebly the old man moved his right hand towards the open grave.
"Plenty--plenty! All yours, Hector! For--for the Cause--God's with us!"
His head fell forward on Beaumaroy's breast; for an instant again he
raised it, and looked in the face of his friend. A smile came on his
lips. "I know I can trust you. I'm safe with you, Hector." His head fell
forward again; his whole body was relaxed; he gave a sigh of peace.
Beaumaroy lifted him in his arms and very gently set him back in his
great chair, placing his feet again on the high footstool.

"I think it's all over," he said, and Mary saw tears in his eyes.

Then Mary herself collapsed; she sank down on the dais and broke into
weeping. It had all been so pitiful, and somehow so terrible. Her quick
tumultuous sobbing sounded through the place which the vibrations of the
old man's voice had lately filled.

She felt Beaumaroy's hand on her shoulder. "You must make sure," he said,
in a low voice. "You must make your examination."

With trembling hands she did it--she forced herself to it, Beaumaroy
aiding her. There was no doubt. Life had left the body which reason had
left long before. His weakened heart had not endured the last strain of
mad excitement. The old man was dead.

Her face showed Beaumaroy the result of her examination, if he had ever
doubted of it. She looked at him, then made a motion of her hand towards
the body. "We must--we must--" she stammered, the tears still rolling
down her cheeks.

"Presently," he said. "There's plenty of time. You're not fit to do that
now--and no more am I, to tell the truth. We'll rest for half an hour,
and then get him upstairs, and--and do the rest. Come with me!" He put
his hand lightly within her arm. "He will rest quietly on his throne for
a little while. He's not afraid any more. He's at rest."

Still with his arm in Mary's, he bent forward and kissed the old man on
the forehead. "I shall miss you, old friend," he