ore the end she had been
restless, lying with a pucker on her brow, and eyes that asked
pitiably for something--I could not guess what, until she turned them
to the chair, over the back of which (for the day was sultry), I had
tossed my coat.

I reached for the coat and slipped it on. Her eyes grew glad at
once.

"Closer!" she whispered. As I bent closer, she nestled her face
against it. "_La macchia! . . . la macchia!_"

With that last breath, drawing in the scent of it, she laid her head
slowly back, and slept.

The Bavarelli took it for granted that I would bury her in the
graveyard, down the valley. But I consulted with Brother Polifilo.
I argued that every high mountain-top by its very nature came within
the definition of consecrated ground; and after a show of reluctance
he accepted the heresy, on condition I allowed him first to visit the
spot chosen and recite the prayer of consecration over it.

We laid her in the coffin that Brother Polifilo brought, and carried
her to the summit of the mountain overlooking the pass, where the
rock had allowed us to dig the shallowest of graves. Beside it, when
the coffin was covered, I said good-bye to the Bavarelli and
dismissed them down the hill. They understood that I had yet a word
to speak to the good monk.

"One thing remains," I said, and showed him the crown with the five
empty settings, and the one diamond yet glittering in its band.

"Help me to build a cairn," said I.

So he helped me. We built a tall cairn, and I laid the crown within
it.

The sun was setting as we laid the last stone in place. We walked in
silence down to the pass, and there I shook hands with him by the
little chapel, and received his blessing before setting my face
northwards.

I dare say that he stood for a long while, watching me as I descended
the curves of the road. But I never once looked back until I had
crossed the valley, far below. The great peak rose behind me; and it
seemed to me that on its summit a diamond shone amongst the stars.

POSTSCRIPT.

BY GERVASE ARUNDEL.

July 15 (St. Swithun's), 1761.

My nephew has asked me to write the few words necessary to conclude
this narrative.

The day after my brother's burial, the _Gauntlet_, in company with
General Paoli's gunboat, _Il Sampiero_, weighed and left the island
of Giraglia for Isola Rossa, where by agreement we were to wait one
calendar month before sailing fo