ined face, as the
cantineer and a corporal enter with ropes and proceed to pinion the
prisoners.

But, as they are marched away once more under the slanting rain, are
forced into a worn-out boat and lashed face to face, her fortitude
melts apace.

"There, my turtle-doves," sneers the truculent corporal, "another
kindness of the general. The Nantes way is back to back, but he
thought it would amuse you to see each other's grimaces."

On the strand resounds the muffled roll of wet drums, announcing the
execution of national justice; with one blow of an axe the craft is
scuttled; a push from a gaff sends it spinning on the swift swollen
waters into the estuary. Adrian's lips are on her forehead, but she
lifts her face; her eyes now are haggard.

"Adrian," she sobs, "you have forgiven me? I have your death on my
soul! Oh, Adrian, ... I could have loved you!"

Helpless and palsied by the merciless ropes, she tries passionately to
reach her little mouth to his. A stream of fire rushes through his
brain--maddening frenzy of regret, furious clinging to escaping
life!--Their lips have met, but the sinking craft is full, and, with a
sudden lurch, falls beneath the eddies.... A last roll of the drums,
and the pinioned bodies of these lovers of a few seconds are silently
swirling under the waters of the Vilaine.

And now the end of this poor life has come--with heart-breaking sorrow
of mind and struggle of body, overpowering horror at the writhings of
torture in the limbs lashed against his--and vainly he strives to
force his last breath into her hard-clenched mouth.

Such was the end of Adrian Landale, aged twenty--the end that should
have been--The pity that it was not permitted!

After the pangs of unwelcome death, the misery of unwelcome return to
life. Oh, Rene, Rene, too faithful follower; thou and the other true
men who, heedless of danger, hanging on the flanks of the victorious
enemy, never ceased to watch your lady from afar. You would have saved
her, could courage and faithfulness and cunning have availed! But,
since she was dead, Rene, would thou hadst left us to drift on to the
endless sea! How often have I cursed thee, good friend, who staked thy
life in the angry bore to snatch two spent bodies from its merciless
tossing. It was not to be endured, said you, that the remains of the
Lady of Savenaye should drift away unheeded, to be devoured by the
beasts of the sea! They now repose in sacred ground, and I li