o be admiral and sovereign duke, and it
has all come to nothing--nothing. I wronged you, I denied you,
there was the cause of all. There is no one to watch with me now to
the one moment of life that counts. In this hour the clock of time
fills all the space between earth and heaven. It will strike soon--
the awful clock. It will soon strike twelve: and then it will be
twelve of the clock for me always--always.

I know you never wanted revenge on me, Guida, but still you have it
here. My life is no more now than vraic upon a rock. I cling, I
cling, but that is all, and the waves break over me. I am no longer
an admiral, I am no more a duke--I am nothing. It is all done. Of
no account with men I am going to my judgment with God. But you
remain, and you are Princess Philip d'Avranche, and your son--your
son--will be Prince Guilbert d'Avranche. But I can leave him
naught, neither estates nor power. There is little honour in the
title now. So it may be you will not use it. But you will have a
new life: with my death happiness may begin again for you. That
thought makes death easier. I was never worthy of you, never. I
understand myself now, and I know that you have read me all these
years, read me through and through. The letter you wrote me, never
a day or night has passed but, one way or another, it has come home
to me.

There was a footfall outside his window. A roysterer went by in the
light of the flaring lamp. He was singing a ribald song. A dog ran
barking at his heels. The reveller turned, drew his sword, and ran the
dog through, then staggered on with his song. Philip shuddered, and with
a supreme effort bent to the table again, and wrote on.

You were right: you were my star, and I was so blind with
selfishness and vanity I could not see. I am speaking the truth to
you now, Guida. I believe I might have been a great man if I had
thought less of myself and more of others, more of you. Greatness,
I was mad for that, and my madness has brought me to this desolate
end--alone. Go tell Maitresse Aimable that she too was a good
prophet. Tell her that, as she foresaw, I called your name in
death, and you did not come. One thing before all: teach your boy
never to try to be great, but always to live well and to be just.
Teach him too that the world means better by him than he thinks, and
that he must never treat it as his foe;